


The Equestrian

by fellowwriter



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Bits, Bondage, Breastplates, Bridles, Copia's Thicc Dicc, Dressage Riding, F/M, Girths, Horseback Riding, Martingales, Pony Play, Reins, Riding Crops, Saddles, Spurs, Stirrups and leathers, THIGHS LIKE BAYONNE HAMS - YES THIS ALSO TAKES PLACE IN FRANCE, Tight Riding Breeches, and his FUCKEN PURE PALE HORSE
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2019-06-07 16:12:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 53,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15222866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fellowwriter/pseuds/fellowwriter
Summary: Master Copia's stablehand teaches him how to ride more than a horse over a long hot summer.





	1. Close

  
_You have never stood this close to where you want to be_  


 

The tack room was still warm even though the sun had set. I placed the heavy saddle on its stand, wiping my brow with my sleeve before rolling it up.

His rides were longer now that spring had turned into summer. But although I was working later than before, every evening was still the same routine. When he finished walking his horse, I brought buckets of water to the paddock, and we watched her drink in silence. Then, he unbridled her and put her on the crossties in the stable, so I could untack her, all without an exchange of words.

When he first appointed me the job in his stable last winter, I had asked about his ride, and one look from him made me never ask again. While he rarely talked, his eyes spoke volumes, and after several evenings alone together, I grew accustomed to reading his stares and glances. Many on his staff thought he was deranged, but I only saw loneliness, and I often wondered what happened earlier in his life to cause it.

I dipped the sponge into the bucket of water and wrung it out before applying the soap. Wiping down all parts of the saddle, I worked the soap into the leather until no suds remained. Carefully, I sponged the girth and the bridle next until all the leather shone and felt soft. Then I rinsed and cleaned the bit with water before putting the tack back where it belonged.

I returned to the dimly lit stable to retrieve the grooming box. He preferred to groom his horse himself while I cleaned the tack, and then, while I removed horse hair from the brushes and put them away, he returned his horse to her stall for the night.

“Master Copia,” I called so he wouldn't be startled as I approached.

I froze in my tracks when I saw him. He was in the adjoining stall, facing the back wall, his head lowered. I heard faint guttural sounds in the shadows. Was that coming from him or the horse? When I realized he hadn't heard me, I ducked into the adjacent stall by the door and crouched to listen. It was him. I turned to peek above the half wall, through the stall bars.

His riding breeches were unzipped and his gloves were off. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the light, and a few moments more to process what I was seeing.

He groaned suddenly as I watched him climax, the white ropes shooting into the hay on the stall's floor. I stared at him as he took his final strokes. His muscular thighs flexed with each spurt, his cock glistening in his hand as it moved back and forth, and his mouth open and panting.

After the initial shock, I scampered back to the tack room, unsure what to do. Had he always done this? I nervously looked at the doorway, repeatedly, as I fidgeted. Finally, I heard his footsteps approach, and I hastily grabbed my sponge, pretending to still be cleaning the saddle.

He entered the tack room, blinking in the brighter light, before resting his mismatched eyes on me. He stared at me for a moment, one hand holding the grooming box, the other on his hip. Had he seen me? I pulled the corners of my mouth into a weak smile as I stopped scrubbing the saddle and stood straight. I didn't want them to, but my eyes darted below his waist before meeting his gaze. Everything was zipped back into place. His gloves were once again on, the symbols on the back glinting when they met the light.

He held out the grooming box, and my hand shook when I reached to take it.

“Thank you,” I said, hoping he didn't notice.

He nodded, still staring at me, lifting his left leg and planting his boot on the bench between us. As he leaned backward slightly, I stared at his sinewy legs, taut from years of riding. His tight breeches showed every curve of his thighs and wrinkled around the bulge in his crotch.

His eyes dropped down my uniform as he studied me, and I noticed the black circles he painted around them each night before his ride slightly smeared in the heat. The château lore was that he blackened them to scare away his demons, or to hide an ailment some staff believed he had.

He opened his mouth as if he would say something. His upper lip, also painted black, glistened below his thinning mustache from sweat. Abruptly, he paused and pressed his lips together again, as if he had second thoughts, before lowering his leg to the floor. Without a word, he turned and left me alone in the tack room.

I set the grooming box down on the worktable and went outside to watch him walk back to the château. His graceful gait disappeared into the darkness, and I wouldn't see him again until the following night.

When I returned to my room in the château after closing the stable, I was restless. I thought about what I had seen, and how thick his cock looked as he held it. I never knew he had any sexual urges at all, and I wondered if he ever acted on them.

I tossed and turned in my nightclothes, thinking about him sleeping upstairs alone. Had anyone ever been up there? I flung the sheet off my body, feeling the dampness between my legs.

The moonlight shone through the windows when I opened my door to tiptoe to the end of the hallway. I stood at the foot of the stairwell, my hand on the banister post, looking up at the door to his bedroom for several minutes. It was quiet at the top of the stairs, and when the hall clock chimed, I snapped out of my reverie, hastily retreating to my room and closing the door for the night.


	2. The Shallows

  
_You have always waded in the shallows between me and the deep blue sea_  


 

I was up early to feed the horses and clean the stable. At breakfast with the stewards and hired hands, I was quieter than usual. My friend Franchot noticed my mind wander through the window I stared through, down the gentle slope to the outbuildings.

 _“Bonjour, bien dormi? Tu as rêvé de quoi?”_ His smiled faded as he noticed my untouched plate. As the chef, he was always the last person to sit down for any meal, even the daily continental breakfast. “Need me to make you something special?”

“I’m just tired, that’s all. Sit, please.” I took my coffee in hand and sipped from the bowl.

“A late night then?” He pulled out the chair across from me to sit down and then took a large bite of _une tartine_ with his homemade jam made from berries grown on the château property.

“Not especially.” I couldn’t stop thinking about Master Copia, but I wasn’t about to tell him about it.

“Taking another ride today?”

“I am taking Laguerre to the beach,” I said, speaking about Copia’s auburn horse. “He needs to get accustomed to the water.” Copia permitted me to ride three of his four horses I boarded in his stable.

“Nice weather for it.”

“It should be cooler there.”

“Well, I missed you at last night’s card game,” he admitted, referencing how I sometimes joined the others for _Belote_ in the salon. He took another bite and licked the jam from his upper lip. “Is Copia keeping you busy?”

I flushed and quickly held the bowl back to my lips to hide it.

“You could say that,” I said after my long sip. “I am working later, now that there is more daylight and his rides are longer. You won’t see me at cards for a while.”

“ _Dommage._ None of the others play as well as you do.” His eyes followed mine as I looked out the window again.

  


* * *

  


The northwestern border of Copia’s estate was the ocean. An established trail weaved through nearly five kilometers of tree groves sculpted by the wind and shrubby underbrush, ending at a shallow cliff. After several rides, Laguerre was now adept at navigating the steep terrain down to the sand.

The first time I visited this private cove, the solitary feeling astounded me. Alone with the ocean lapping at Laguerre’s feet, I carefully rode half the distance to the end of the beach in a steady trot, before I stopped and turned with the rocks behind me, lost in the blue expanse. Looking back over my shoulder, I realized then it would be impossible for anyone to know I was there unless they were standing directly on the ledge.

It quickly became a favorite place to ride, and each day the tide washed away the tracks so whenever I returned, I felt the cove’s blissful solitude again, its curve enveloping me in seclusion.

The beach exhilarated Laguerre as we moved into an easy canter in the firm sand close to the tide line. As the waves broke and excited him, I observed the fresh air whirling about the rockery in irregular circles. I held back his gallop and near the end of the beach broke into a walk, so he would continue to learn not to run every time his feet touched the sand.

I had taken Laguerre out late in the afternoon to ride at low tide, and when I returned, Copia’s pale horse wasn’t in the pasture where I had left her. I cursed, hoping it would not upset Copia I was not there to tack his horse for his evening ride.

I walked Laguerre for several minutes on a loose rein to cool him down, taking the trail through the grassy meadows on the north side of the château. I dismounted on the way back to stop and pick wildflowers, and when I placed my hand between his front legs, he was still hot. I rolled up the stirrups and loosened the girth before putting the reins over his head to lead him easily on foot. We walked together back to the paddock where I checked again that he had finally cooled, and after tying him to a hitching post, I retrieved buckets of water for him to drink.

I put my wildflowers in a spare pail before I set to work. I used fresh water to clean away the traces of saltwater and sand, and I carefully inspected the wear on his hooves before I untacked and groomed him. Laguerre was in his stall and I was cleaning the saddle when I heard Copia return.

I set my sponge down and filled two buckets with water, heading to the paddock, just in time to watch Copia dismount. A giant bulge protruded from his breeches as he turned to face me, and I nearly dropped the buckets when I saw it. Quickly, I regained my composure as he tied his horse to the hitching post.

“Master Copia, I must apologize for not being here when you left.” I set the buckets down.

He looked at me and then turned back to his horse to watch her drink. Following his cue, I said nothing else, and when his horse finished, I fetched more water. After she emptied a third bucket, Copia unbridled her and put her on the crossties in the stable.

I was nervous as he watched me untack her.

“Again, I am sorry Master Copia,” I said when I finished, handing him the grooming box. I eyed his bulge involuntarily and squinted as I turned away.

In the tack room, after I finished cleaning both saddles, I heard distant but familiar guttural sounds. I thought about the previous night as my feet moved towards the noise. Copia was in the same place he was the night before, and I silently resumed my position in the adjacent stall to watch.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. He was holding his cock in his right hand, his body thrusting as he pumped it back and forth vigorously. He tilted his head back in pleasure, and I could see his closed black eyelids and open mouth.

I bit my lip when I glimpsed the head of his cock under his thumb and pressed my legs together. My mind ran wild, wondering why he masturbated here of all places, and how come he returned from rides with an erection? What was he doing?

My eyes became heavy as I continued to watch. He lifted one leg and rested it on an overturned bucket so he could make more room for his second hand. Whose cock was so large you needed both hands?

I slipped two fingers down the front of my riding pants, unable to help myself at the sight. His butt was firm and his thighs tight as his hips moved back and forth, his cock sliding between his palms. I rubbed my clit urgently as I felt my wetness spreading, wanting to hurry and get back to the tack room. I closed my eyes and imagined what his cock would feel like while I listened to him. I had never taken one so thick and I wondered if it would hurt. Maybe I hoped it would hurt. I thought about being split in two from the girth, and I let out a little moan as I stumbled backwards from my crouching position into the hay.

I stayed there, rubbing furiously, trying to get this urge out and feeling like I could be close. But I stopped cold when a shadow crossed my face, and I opened my eyes to see Copia standing above me. He had heard me and put his cock away to investigate the noise I had made.

My hand was motionless but still buried in my panties as he stared at me, and I felt redness surge through my cheeks. I noticed he could not fasten his pants entirely because of his erection, and it was at an odd angle, like it was hurriedly shoved inside. His gloves were back on and his hands were at his sides.

He may have looked bemused, but it was difficult to tell while he stood in front of the light, his face obscured. I could only distinguish his white eye. I pulled my hand out of my pussy and got on my knees in front of him to see him better. We locked eyes for a moment, and still with no words, I unzipped his breeches and awkwardly pulled his cock out, carefully clearing the zipper. It was so quiet now I could hear him breathe.

I gasped when I held it in my hand. It shocked me I could. I cradled it in the open curve between my thumb and forefinger, my other fingers gently coiling around his shaft. When I looked up at him, his head slightly tilted forward, his eyes peering down into mine. I could see the longing.

I kept looking into his eyes as I started slow, long strokes, moving my hand and wrist in a large circle to navigate his circumference. His gloved hands moved inside his pants, and a subtle hip movement freed his large balls. I gasped again, and my other hand moved eagerly to touch them. I imagined that if he came, I would likely drown from all the semen they held.

I opened my mouth to take his cock, but his hand quickly grabbed my chin. It confused me. Did he not want this? I searched his face, and the longing was still there, but he looked stern now.

His leather thumb gently stroked my cheek as I felt his cock still swelling in my palm. It could get bigger?

“Just... hands.” His voice was raspy.

He hadn’t spoken in weeks, and these two words startled me. Any words would have startled me. I lost my concentration.

He kept his hand on my chin, holding my head up. He placed his other hand over mine, grasping it, and sliding our hands together over his cock.

His eyes narrowed, and after a moment fully closed. His balls elevated and his face tensed. Suddenly, he let go of my chin and hand and pulled himself away, coming in the straw next to me with a groan, heaving. I had seen it before.

What just happened? I sat back on my heels as I watched him finish. As his breathing calmed, he was careful not to soil his gloves, quickly moving his hips to fit everything back into his breeches and zipping up. There was still a bulge now making a wet spot, but this time he fastened them at the top.

He held out his hand to help me up.

Once I was on my feet, he didn’t touch me or speak again. We shared a look I couldn’t interpret, and his eyes appeared cold. I didn’t understand.

He left the stable then to return to the château, and I cursed as I watched him walk away.

Back in the tack room, I realized I still had girths, bridles and bits to clean. I resumed my work, but my mind was already back in the château. With him. I wanted him more than I thought. I needed to be broken by his cock and crushed by his thighs. I wanted to be unable to walk.

After I showered and retired to my room for the night, I was still restless, and I touched myself again. He was all I could think about, and I wondered if he thought of me.

I lunged out of bed and stood up, distracted, without thinking. My body seemed to have a mind of its own, and I found myself in the hallway at the stairs, my hand on the banister post once more.

I looked up at his bedroom door again. Could I? Should I? Would he want this? Does he want me? I had soaked my clean underwear, and my palms were sweaty as I mulled over what I was about to do.

“Good evening.” The raspy voice was behind me and I froze.

I gripped the banister post to stay upright and turned so I wasn’t blocking the staircase.

Copia brushed by me, close enough for me to feel the crushed velvet of his robe on my arm. He was holding a snifter of cognac, and his hair was wet and slicked back. I wasn’t able to see his face.

My mouth fell open as I watched him climb the stairs in his house slippers. I wanted to call out to him, but I couldn’t form the words.

He hesitated in front of his bedroom.

“It’s late. Get to bed,” he said over his shoulder.

When he closed his bedroom door for the night, I slid down the wall onto the floor. I had to sit there for ten minutes to collect myself before my legs were sturdy enough to carry me back to my room.


	3. Fleur-de-lis

  
_You would never want me to appear_  


 

“Are you sure?” Copia’s voice was low and silken now, and I was the one who couldn’t speak. I nodded.

He pushed my hair away from my neck, stroking above my collarbone with his fingertip. It was electric to feel his bare skin on mine as he loomed above me, leaning forward, our hips finally touching as his body lay between my legs. The warm breeze from my open window danced across our bodies in the night.

When he knocked on my door before dawn I was already awake. I remembered him taking my hands and placing them on his chest where I longed to touch, but our impassioned moments after that were a blur.

He studied me carefully with each movement, his eyes searing as I fell into them. His lips parted as he glided a lingering finger up the side of my neck to my ear, and I shivered under his caress. His nose pressed against my skin as his mouth moved to my collarbone, trailing upward in the same path.

I slipped my fingers into his hair as he ravaged me with his lips. I felt his tongue and breath alternate as he left a series of open-mouthed kisses, painfully unhurried, pausing between them to lift his head and heed the quiet sounds I let escape. Unable to contend with his attentive stare, my head dropped to the side as I closed my eyes, my hands on his shoulders.

His cock was hot where it settled against my skin, and as it continued to engorge, his pelvis moved erratically to accommodate it. I slid my hands down his back to his hips as he writhed. Already soaked, I just wanted him then and he knew it, pulling back as I raised my knees higher, and guiding himself into position.

One hand went to my cheek, turning my face so he could see me again.

“Open your eyes.”

I saw his desire and felt an immense pressure between my thighs. Slowly I was opened, stretched to my limits and vulnerable, the heaviness filling me. It was divine. One at a time, he took my hands in his and held them down by my ears, keeping his eyes locked with mine. My hips extended fully, and I felt pain—a pleasurable pain.

“Halfway there,” he whispered over my lips before kissing them, and then I had no feeling in my legs. As I succumbed to his weight and pressure, soon I could see nothing at all.

  


* * *

  


When I couldn’t sit up, I panicked and shouted for help, but nothing would come out. I moved my arms, and then my legs, but nothing happened. Paralyzed, I could not budge. I wrestled myself under the sheet, telling my body to move, pleading for it be over, until I could roll onto my side. Raising myself on my elbow, I brought my eyes back into focus, breathing heavily. It was already daylight.

I hadn’t suffered from sleep paralysis in years, and it surprised me it returned with such an incredible hallucination. After a moment I smiled to myself, remembering how it felt to have Copia in my bed.

When I sat up, my inner thighs cramped and I fell back onto my elbow. As I tried to remember more of my dream, I slipped my hand into my underwear, and I was wet. I looked over my shoulder at the alarm clock. The alarm wasn’t set, and I recognized the wildflowers I picked the previous evening in a water-filled vase I had never seen.

My heart beat faster. I rolled over for a closer look and found a small box in front of the vase on the nightstand. There was a folded note under its ribbon.

_“Wear this always. C.”_

I recognized the squiggle that was his signature. It was the same as was on my employment contract. Someone really was in my room? Was it him? I suddenly looked at the window and someone shut it, but I didn’t remember closing it.

I focused my attention back to the box and lifted the lid. Inside was a black vintage _fleur-de-lis_ pendant. I had seen the symbol many times on the outside of the château—near the front doors and at the driveway gate—but I didn’t think much of it as it was so commonplace.

I sat up again, placing the pendant back in the box on the nightstand. It was odd to receive a gift like this, but at least I knew he thought of me. Looking at the clock, I realized I had overslept by almost two hours, and I stumbled to the bath. I needed to find Copia before I started my day’s work.

The staff dining room was empty when I arrived, and Franchot was already starting preparations for lunch in the kitchen.

 _“Bonjour, bien dormi?”_ His smile widened, preparing to tease me for my tardiness.

_“Bonjour, Franchot.”_

“You must be starving since you missed dinner last night? Or did you go out with someone?”

I sighed. “No, I didn’t go out.”

He smiled devilishly. “Then who did I hear in your room last night?” He winked as I went pale. What was he talking about? He heard something in my room?

 _“Oh! Je suis désolé,”_ he said when he saw my reaction. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. May I make you _un croque-monsieur?_ Some coffee?”

“Please,” I said, sitting on a stool. I didn’t want to ask, but I needed to know. “What did you hear last night?”

“Oh, I’m sure it was just the wind.” He winked at me. “I’ll keep your secret.” Those words left me speechless, and I decided not to press it as I watched him slice the bread, ham, and Gruyere for my sandwich.

“Have you seen Master Copia this morning?” Franchot shot me a curious look, so I continued to explain. “Since I overslept, I’m concerned about getting my jobs done before his evening ride.”

“I saw the Phantom leave early,” he replied, referring to Copia’s Rolls-Royce. His driver took him everywhere except the horse trails.

“Do you know when he will return?” I tried not to sound anxious.

“No, you can ask Jean-Luc.” My heavily buttered sandwich sizzled when he dropped it into a skillet.

“It’s not that important.” I didn’t want to ask the chief steward. That would be odd after working in the château for six months to inquire suddenly about Copia’s whereabouts. I would wait until his evening ride to see him.

“All I know is he’s headed to the city for business and won’t return tonight.”

My heart dropped in disappointment, and although I tried to hide it, he knew me well enough to know something was not right. He hesitated before turning to reach in the cupboard, retrieving a bottle of calvados.

“Something extra for today," he declared, setting down two small snifters and proceeding to make us _café calva._ I drank the brandy before the espresso was ready.

  


* * *

  


When I finished my jobs, there wasn’t enough time to take a ride of my own, so I walked Copia’s pale horse on foot in the pasture. I wouldn’t dare ride her without permission, but I had difficulty bonding with her and any extra time I spent would help.

After the walk I groomed her, returning her to her stall for the night. He had never told me her name.

When I passed the empty adjacent stall, my mind flashed back to the previous night, and how odd it all was. It gave me an uncomfortable feeling, and I headed back to the château as the sun was setting.

I dined with the staff and stayed for a short time to play _Belote_ in the salon before retiring to my room.

As I lay in bed with the window open, I still felt ill at ease. I reached for the _fleur-de-lis_ pendant and fastened it around my neck before I fell asleep.


	4. Tonight

  
_You never want this to be over_  


 

After my morning jobs, I did a walking tour of the pasture. Alexandre managed the fields, and he had cleaned the area where the horses most recently grazed before mowing it to a short uniform height.

I waved to him on his tractor as I walked the long perimeter, inspecting the new grazing area. The forages had grown to just below my mid-calf in the summer sun and waved softly in the breeze.

I stopped at the board fence on the far side to watch Alexandre. He was a tall Corsican with large brown eyes and dark, deeply tanned skin, and sleeves rolled up past the elbow gave a glimpse of his toned arms, which always caught my attention. We became friends the first day we met; he was kind and lighthearted, and he shared my love of horses.

From my vantage point, I could see the château’s long driveway below the fields, winding irregularly through tree-lined hills. I glanced down at it every few minutes, hoping to see the Rolls-Royce returning, but I knew if Copia spent the night in the city, I likely wouldn’t see him for hours.

My palm moved to my chin as I remembered how his glove felt when he cupped it, and I slid my fingers down my neck to the pendant and held it. I pined for him. I had slept alone for months, and the thought of being with him made my eyes close as I relived my vivid dream.

I told no one what had happened in the stable or about the pendant which lay unseen below the second button of my uniform’s shirt, hidden like a dark secret. Part of me wanted to ask Franchot for his sage advice as I didn’t want to jeopardize my position, but I wasn’t sure how to describe what occurred, and I didn’t know what would happen to Copia if others found out.

I rubbed my thumb across the pendant’s surface, feeling the lily’s texture, as I watched Alexandre turn the tractor to cut the final row. I planned to confront Copia when he returned. Letting go of my necklace, I moved my fingers and thumb, mentally recreating his girth. While I had held it—stroked it—that wasn’t enough. I needed it inside me. Inside my mouth. Inside my pussy. I was ready for him to claim me.

I wondered what he would do when we saw each other. Would he kiss me right away? Would he make a move in the stable? Would he take me to his bedroom? I imagined his hot breath in the nape of my neck, his pelvis against my ass, thighs pressed against mine, hands exploring my breasts before sliding down.

“Ready to move the gates?” Alexandre’s voice startled me when he called out. I wasn’t sure how long my eyes were closed, and he had already driven the tractor to the buffer strip and turned it off. I hadn’t noticed the absent engine noise.

 _“Oui!”_ I shouted back. After checking the driveway one last time, I walked the fence line toward him as he stood drinking water from a bottle. By the time I reached him, the bottle was empty, and he had opened another.

I unlocked the first set of large gates in the middle where their ends met, and we each took one, swinging them in opposite directions and rolling them back to open the new grazing area. We then repeated the process with a second and third set of gates, swinging them to close off the other areas, and I locked them into place.

The final step was to move and fill the water troughs. I had cleaned them that morning, and Alexandre hauled them with the tractor before driving it back to its outbuilding. I used a hose to fill the troughs, coiling it loosely into a neat pile after I turned off the spigot.

When we finished, I asked if he wanted to help bring the horses out. We took them out two at a time, and I carefully removed their halters as he petted them before turning them loose. I locked the gate, and we stood at the fence watching them for several minutes as they explored their new area.

“Look at them,” he said. “You have the best job here, being with them every day. I should visit you more often.”

“We should go riding again sometime,” I agreed, trying not to notice his attractive smile.

“Will you be playing cards tonight?”

“I wish I could, but I expect I’ll be working late.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then. I won’t be at dinner tonight.” He squeezed my shoulders goodbye, and I turned to exchange kisses before he left.

As I watched him walk away, the château loomed in the distance. My eyes went to Copia’s window, and it was dark with no movement in sight.

  


* * *

  


I never saw the Phantom return. Before dinner I had showered and dressed in clean clothes, and after the meal I left immediately for the stable to tack Copia’s horse. Perhaps I was being optimistic, but it was my job to be ready when he wanted to ride, and tonight I was ready for a lot more.

My heart leaped out of my chest when I saw him striding towards the stable from the doorway a half hour later. He wore his regular riding clothes and boots, and his chestnut hair shone in the late sun. Freshly painted black circles darkened his eyes, and he squinted when he saw me.

In the shower that evening I had practiced what I would say to him, but as he approached slowly—and deliberately—he seemed so powerful that any coherent thoughts vanished. I stepped back from the door to bridle his horse, trying to calm down.

When he set foot in the stable, I felt his eyes boring into me.

“Master Copia.” I greeted him as I always did, but my voice cracked on the last syllable.

He walked towards me, his footsteps making the only sounds in the stable, tonight’s stare burning with a new intensity. I had his horse ready and held the reins in both hands.

When he stopped in front of me, he looked handsome as he always did, and I wanted to embrace him. With one hand, he reached up to greet his horse, stroking her neck tenderly, and all I could think of was his glove on my chin and I had to look away. My throat was dry as I suppressed a cough.

He studied my face before he reached for the reins. Our hands didn’t touch as he took them from me and led his horse outside.

I stayed back for a moment, flustered, and then realized I had to say something—I needed to tell him how much I wanted him. It couldn’t wait any longer.

I watched him check the girth of the saddle before he mounted up his horse. As I approached, I bravely put my hand on his left thigh. He sat relaxed in the saddle and I felt no tension in his lower body, his horse standing perfectly still.

“The other night...” My voice trailed off as I lost my nerve. He watched me, waiting to see if I would say anything more, and when nothing else came out, his horse moved forward and I lowered my hand.

His horse was electric just as he liked, and I hadn’t felt the small amount of pressure he applied to ask for a walk. I was astonished how sensitive she was to his legs.

They looked stunning together riding away towards the meadows, as she shifted into his requested gait, his signals imperceptible, sitting comfortably and handsomely in the saddle, producing a balanced and graceful movement.

At that moment, there was nothing I could do but return to the tack room and wait.

  


* * *

  


When Copia returned from his ride two hours later, I was in the paddock with fresh water. He had walked his horse until she cooled, and I watched him dismount and tie her to the hitching post.

When he turned around, I saw his giant bulge, but it didn’t surprise me this time—it excited me seeing him this way again after two days and one long night apart.

He moved to stand beside me as we watched his horse drink. Our shoulders were close, and I snuck glimpses of his body out of the corner of my eye.

I was glad when she stopped before finishing the second bucket of water. Copia led her into the stable and unbridled her, putting her on the crossties. I untacked her as always, wheeling the cart into the tack room. To find out how my night would end, I wanted to clean up quickly.

When I returned, Copia was grooming his horse, and I watched him from a distance. With her soft brush, he gave long smooth strokes starting from her head and working his way down her body and legs. Her head lowered slightly as she relaxed, her ears hanging to the side. She cocked her leg and shifted her weight from one leg to the other as his touch calmed her, each attuned to the other’s ways in their pair bond.

I moved forward slowly towards them, and they both raised an ear in my direction, acknowledging my presence. I approached Copia from behind as he brushed her mane, starting at the ends of the hair. I put my right hand on his shoulder, and he hesitated, but kept brushing. As he worked his way to the top of her mane, I slowly dragged my hand down his back until it rested on his right hip. The tension between us was palpable. I felt it in his body, and in mine, and I envisioned its release.

Copia quietly dropped the brush in the grooming box and turned, my hand sliding across the back of his waist and landing on his opposite side. He pressed his hand on top, holding my palm against his body as he edged closer until I felt his erection upon me. He saw how much I burned for him in that moment, his face so close I could feel his breath. I whimpered when I felt his gloved fingers on my neck, and he tipped his head back, his mouth slightly parted, as he slid them down beneath the placket of my shirt.

He fingered the pendant, taking it out and admiring its blackness, before sliding his hand back up and cupping my chin as he had done two nights before. I took a quick breath as he still gripped my other hand firmly to his hip.

“Good,” he said in a low voice, breaking our embrace to return his attention to his horse, leaving me dazed.

I watched him untie her and return her to her stall. Before he shut its door, he stood at her side, stroking her head gently and rubbing her ears.

When he faced me again, I was reeling. He came in close and grasped my upper arms, taking in my countenance.

As our eyes locked, he paused before uttering one more word: “Tonight.”

My heart pounded as I nodded. He let go, and I followed him to the stable door, but he didn’t turn back to look at me as he glided back to the château in the twilight.

I cleaned the grooming brushes and put them away as my mind raced. To remain unseen, I couldn’t go to his bedroom until the stewards had retired for the night, and I wondered how late that would be. When I left the stable, I noticed several lit windows in the château, but Copia’s room remained dark.

  


* * *

  


“Master Copia,” I whispered, as I creeped into the near darkness. I shut the door behind me and followed the long console table that led into his room.

I found him in an armchair in the shadows, a hint of moonlight from the window illuminating the black paint still circling his eyes. I stopped in my tracks. Knowing he was waiting for me all this time thrilled me.

He held out a hand, which was my invitation. I navigated the sitting area slowly but brimming with excitement, and it startled me to feel his skin instead of leather.

He took in the dressing gown I had worn, not yet realizing I had nothing on underneath. He brought his arm in, guiding me sideways into his lap so his cock pressed against my ass. It was the first time he had seen my hair down, and as he stared, his free hand briefly went to my locks where they curled around my shoulders.

He grunted, satisfied, one arm around my waist and sliding the other into my lap, searching the silk for my bare legs. I draped one arm around his neck, feeling the crushed velvet of his robe, and his lips brushed mine. Was that supposed to be a kiss?

His cock was so huge I couldn’t wait any longer. I swung my leg over him and straddled him. His hands went to my ass, pulling me in, and when I felt his girth pressed against me, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.

When I leaned back, he opened his robe, so we were skin on skin. His cock was smooth and tight and quickly drenched as I writhed over him. His hand went to my neck, slipping the silk down my shoulder so he could see my breasts below my pendant.

As he stood up quickly, I heaved and wrapped my legs around him, instantly falling to pieces at the thought of him taking me.

We passed through opened double doors that led from the sitting room to his bed. The bed coverings were pulled back, and he tore our garments off as I fell backwards into his sheets.

He took his time crawling into position on his final approach, his hands separating my slightly bent knees. His cock was visibly throbbing, and I held my breath as I wondered how I could take it, but then suddenly I was.

“Fuck,” I muttered as he tried to insert the tip. The friction was painful and raw, and he wielded his penis like a club. My pussy had never taken such a beating.

“Fuck,” I said again, relaxing my haunches, but clenching when he felt like an auger making a hole, cauterizing it at the same time. It was mechanical and grueling and arduous trying to take his weighty burden. My lower extremities knotted as he pulled on my hips, quickly ejaculating as I felt my tissues tear on his crown, too inflamed for his distressed cock to even find its away inside.

He lurched, still holding my hips, as I felt the semen run down and puddle beneath me, and when his black eyelids opened, he seemed distraught. He stared at me as he slid his hands to my knees and left them there for a moment. And then he was gone.

I shifted my position, sliding backwards from where his semen pooled, wondering what happened. I wrapped my dressing gown around my body, tying the belt, and peered into the sitting room. I found him standing in front of the unlit fireplace, his palms resting on the mantle.

“Master Copia,” I whispered hesitantly. I wandered towards him.

“Leave.” The iciness in his voice unnerved me, and he stared straight ahead. Without another word, I left the room and scurried down the stairs to my room without looking back.


	5. Groundwork

  
_You never want it to reach out to the edge of time_  


 

The allure of the bay drew me in closer to the drop-off. I enjoyed the coolness of the breeze, and from my perch in the saddle I could see my crescent cove below.

Laguerre stood quietly beneath me as we listened to the waves crashing. It wasn’t low tide, but waiting would make me late for Copia’s evening ride, and I wanted to be near the beach to think.

I hadn’t slept well, and the break of dawn relieved me from a restless night of inferior and jumbled thoughts as I left the château for my morning jobs. When I started my chores, I focused on the horses, but my head quickly muddied as the day went on and I replayed what had happened.

I remembered how he looked in the saddle. As a man of dignified bearing, he always appeared composed and controlled, his presence evoking a certain majesty. Once he mounted up, the innate elegance that marked everything about his presence and movement transformed him into a dashing horseman. His dexterous and savvy handling of his horse molded her, joining the two of them together as one graceful, flowing form.

As he maintained his posture, their lissome bodies produced a rhythmic—even balletic—movement, each fluent in the language of the other, their relationship harmonious and uncomplicated. Pliant and quick, she didn’t hesitate to answer every ask of her, and their trust ran so deep he never questioned her sure-footedness.

His rides were effortless and smooth, and I envied how comfortable he looked as he led her to where they both needed to go, self-assured and carefree.

How could such a debonair man suddenly become so awkward in the bedroom? I leaned forward to rub Laguerre’s neck and winced as my weight shifted in the saddle. The night had ended in such a clumsy fashion, and I would need to do something about it when I saw him again. We couldn’t be awkward.

I straightened myself and cued Laguerre with my seat and legs, gently squeezing back with my hands on the reins. As he stepped back, I caught one more glimpse of the beach before turning towards the trail.

That night I tacked Copia’s horse and took her outside as I waited for his arrival. She was uninterested in me but followed my lead to the paddock. I tied her to the hitching post just as I spied him leaving the château.

When he reached us minutes later, he used a gloved hand to smooth his windblown hair before affectionately greeting his horse.

“She’s ready for you, Master Copia.” I was attentive, focusing on him and trying to read his state of mind as I untied her and handed him the reins.

He looked at me before he mounted up, expressionless, as if nothing happened between us. Then he gave me a second cursory glance before they left the paddock, breaking into a canter as they headed towards the eastern hills.

I watched and waited until the black and white speck on the horizon disappeared over the first rise.

  


* * *

  


While he was away, I made preparations for his return. I stocked full water buckets in the paddock and wheeled out the tack cart, bringing the grooming box and laying a folded blanket over the adjacent stall guard. I swept the floor with a broom and checked that the doors farthest from the paddock were securely locked.

I was outside when he came back, and I eyed his erection when he dismounted. Although he had walked her for several minutes and cooled her down, he seemed excitable and out of breath.

As we watched his horse drink, I observed the rise and fall of his chest next to me, and he took a kerchief from his pocket and pressed it to his forehead before putting it away. He stood with his legs far apart, giving his cock the room it deserved.

When his horse raised her head, finished, he untied her and led her into the stable. She nuzzled him when he unbridled her, and he lingered before he put her on the crossties. I untacked her and handed him the grooming box as I wheeled my cart away, and when I had the tack cleaned, I returned to Copia’s side.

“Master Copia,” I whispered as I reached out to him and laid my hand on the middle of his back. His shirt felt damp from the humidity, and he lowered his head and turned it my direction, saying nothing and making no eye contact, before continuing to brush his horse.

I ran my hand up to his neck and out toward his shoulder, and when I felt his tight muscles, I massaged them with my fingers. I lifted my other hand, rubbing both traps between my fingers and thumbs until I felt a slight ease in tension. I let my palms rest there lightly as he finished the final brush strokes, and then I slid my hand over his, removing the brush and putting it in the grooming box.

He stood still for a moment while I stroked the nape of his neck, standing close, until he moved to untie his horse and return her to her stall as I watched. After he settled her for the night and closed the stall door, I moved in front of him.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” I breathed as he met my gaze. I put both hands on his shoulders, sliding them down to his chest. Before he could respond, I stepped to his side and looped one arm around his waist while stroking the side of his neck. I felt him swallow, and still he said nothing, but I saw the longing in his eyes again. He was returning to me.

I held him as my hand cradled his neck, brushed his jawline, and my fingers slid up over his sideburns and ear into his hair, rubbing his head. He blinked slowly and widened his stance, and I wrapped a leg around his, scantly pressing my crotch against his thigh as I embraced him in my arms.

I took my time, focusing my touches above the waist as his eyes half closed. I slowly dug into his shoulders and stroked each arm, listening to the rhythm of his breathing. After stroking the length of his back and along both sides, he loosened under my touch and gave a pleasurable murmuration, a signal I could move on to his sensitive areas.

I ran my hand across his chest back and forth in a wide swath, with pressure at first, and when I felt him unwind further, I lightly traced his nipples until he squirmed, repeating my pattern over until he let them harden under my touch with a brief whimper and I could move lower on his body.

When my hand grazed over his abdomen, he shifted his hips restlessly, and I moved both hands there, exploring and applying calming strokes and pressure until he stilled.

I slid off his leg and moved behind him, and his shoulders leaned back to meet me.

“Close your eyes,” I whispered into his ear, and his head tilted against mine, our temples briefly touching.

I reached between the folds of the hanging blanket where I had hidden my surprise. He cocked his head when the metal rings jingled, but eased when he felt my body return and gently press against his back.

“Stay still,” I whispered, and I slipped the harness over his head. I reached around him and pulled the thin leather straps snug, fastening the rings in the back. I smoothed the fabric of his shirt beneath it and then as he adjusted to its tightness, I snapped the crossties into place. He took a deep breath as he realized he was now where his horse had been minutes earlier.

When I stood in front of him again, he opened his eyes, running his gloved fingers over the leather. I knew he recognized it. It was a breastplate from the tack room I had modified, adding additional straps. 

He looked equally shocked and aroused, his eyes darkening. His gloved hand went to my neck, slipping his fingers under my pendant, and I pushed it away.

“I want more of you,” I breathed as I dropped to my knees.

He made a sharp sound as I ran my hands from his hips down his hindquarters, grunting as I firmly rubbed and gripped his ass, and hissing with an open mouth as I worked his thighs down to his boots. 

I slid my palms up his thighs and placed one on each side of his cock, which was ready to burst through the zipper.

When I looked up, his eyes were wild.

His cock fell out like a heavy cudgel when I unzipped his breeches and pulled them slightly down. Without breaking eye contact, I licked my fingers one at a time, tracing each fingertip from the base of his shaft to the tip, encircling it. A bead of pre-cum formed, and I used my tongue to remove it without taking him between my lips. His hands went to the slack in the crossties and jerked them taut in anticipation, his mouth hanging open.

I grasped the base of his cock in my hand and stared at him as I stroked it, stretching my fingers around him as far as I could and moving my palm in a large circle. With my other hand, I tugged the lowest strap of the harness to bring his pelvis in lower, and his thighs flexed as his cock nearly struck me across the cheek.

His balls were lifting, and when I cupped them and held them back, he groaned. I stopped stroking him and licked the base of his shaft, and his legs spasmed and he stomped his foot.

“Easy,” I whispered, before running my tongue along his length, still holding his balls. He grunted and tossed his head back, and I could feel the pressure building.

I put both hands to his hips and twisted my head halfway to his knees to take him carefully in my mouth. I relaxed my jaw the best I could, and when I consumed his thick glans, I looked up at him and his body hitched.

Without sucking, I slid him towards the back of my throat, and he audibly gasped even though I couldn’t take him very far. I swirled my tongue around his shaft, and it was quickly too much for him. I pulled back and let him go as he growled under his breath and yanked the crossties. I stroked his legs until he calmed before trying again.

He gaped as he watched his cock disappear a second time, snapping his eyes shut when he hit the back of my throat on an impulsive thrust. I stayed motionless, feeling his pulse through his penis, but it was still too much for him, and I had to let him slip from my mouth again as he snorted, once again holding him back.

I returned to stroking his hips and ass as I waited for the warm, tingling sensation to dissipate. His heavy breathing was the only sound in the stable, and I wondered if I could assuage his brutish appetite as he exhaled in a low tone. Seeing him this way, hearing him, and taking him like this saturated my pussy. Perhaps neither of us could last.

I wrapped my lips around him once more while he peered down at me and moaned. He was louder now, and his eyes crinkled as he gently thrust his hips forward, and I quickly grabbed the base of his shaft to stop my gag reflex as I felt him leak down my throat.

He visibly tightened, panting when I swallowed, and I knew it was time.

“We need to stop,” I breathed after I pulled away.

He blinked in disbelief as he stared at his cock between my palms, his impaired orgasm dismissed but not forgotten. His eyes shifted to mine, rattled and disconcerted by this unexpected change.

I softly pulled the bottom stop of his zipper away from his body so I could deposit his cock inside his breeches, giving his thighs a rub before I slowly stood up.

He stared at me as I moved my arms around him, pulling gently to loosen the rings. Confused, he searched my face for an explanation, and I pressed my lips together, looking down when I unsnapped the crossties and lifted the harness over his head, tossing it aside.

We were both discomfited by the situation, and my hands went to his shoulders in consolation, his staying at his sides.

He studied my face without speaking, his breathing easing and becoming quieter, until he finally cleared his throat. I put my hands to his waist and zipped his breeches over his waning yet still unsettled cock, and as soon as I had them fastened, he left the stable without a word.

  


* * *

  


At the château, I showered and dressed in my nightclothes and robe and headed to the kitchen to make _une tisane._ I needed to calm down before bed. As I put a kettle on and waited, I remembered the look on Copia’s face when he recognized the breastplate, and then the entire evening flashed through my head. I felt myself dampen again as I recalled the sounds he made in the stable, and I reached for my pendant and held it tightly.

I leaned backwards against the counter, my free hand wrapping around its edge. It would be worth it. He would be worth it. Holding back wasn’t easy, but I desperately wanted him, and we both needed him to be better when we tried again.

When the kettle whistled, I brewed my tea into my favorite cup and padded down the long hallway back towards my room.

Before I reached the foyer, the library doors opened and Copia crossed my path, wearing a smoking jacket.

I took a deep breath as he approached and slowly placed a light hand on my shoulder. He moved in close so I had to look into his eyes. His breath reeked of cognac and cigars, and when I stepped back, he softly pressed me against the wall, our faces nearly touching. I didn’t need to look at his bulge to know his cock was half hard.

He stroked the front of my shoulder mercilessly with his thumb before speaking, and I lost myself in his pining eyes.

“Nightcap?” He cast a deep, longing look, and I flushed at his attention, turning my head away. I couldn’t. We couldn’t.

I bit my lip and faced him when I felt his hand upon my cheek.

I shook my head as his eyes lowered, downhearted. When he dropped his arm, I didn’t look back as I returned to my room.


	6. Bascule

  
_While you sleep in earthly delight_  


 

My hand was in my pussy when I woke up. I had slept soundly, but it wasn’t from the herbal tea.

While my evenings with Copia left me physically strung out, the progress gave me more temperate feelings. He seemed to accept—and enjoy—his desensitization exercises, and I hoped he would become acclimated to my handling, just as his horses did when I became their caretaker. He needed to trust and take pleasure in my touches, the beginning of a nascent physical bond I hoped to form.

His animalistic instincts incited my arousal. His grunts and hisses, the stomping of his foot, and the pulling and jerking of the crossties were unexpected but titillating behaviors that made me ache to ride him and experience his untamed urges myself.

As I relaxed at breakfast, finishing _un bol de café_ after my morning jobs, I thought of the pleasures the night could bring as I looked upon the stable from my window seat. I startled when Béatrice called my name and approached, carrying a slip of paper. As one of Jean-Luc’s clerks, she managed all the appointments at the château.

“Thierry called this morning. He’s coming by at midday for a fitting.”

“Already?”

“He insisted. You know his work ethic.” She set the note down in front of me, and I reviewed a short list of equipment to assemble.

“He needs me to tack up Bascule?”

“Master Copia will be at the appointment to ride. Thierry requested it.”

I straightened in my chair. I had never seen Copia early in the day.

“I’ll be ready for them,” I assured Béatrice. “Thanks for the note.”

Copia had commissioned a jumping saddle for his black horse weeks earlier, and his longtime saddler was now nearing its completion.

I looked out the window, checking for Bascule in the pasture where I turned her out. She was the feisty one, spirited and full of energy. I only rode her when I had the time and patience to address her temperament. One minute she could be calm, and the next she could rear before galloping across the fields as fast as she could.

Copia thought her impetus and compact body would make her a strong jumper. He liked her well-developed withers that sat him in the right place, and her depth of girth that allowed room for her lungs.

I watched her graze the forages, excited to see Copia much sooner than I expected, and wondering how he slept.

  


* * *

  


When Thierry pulled up in his truck, I had a cart ready and wheeled the saddle to the stable with the rest of the tack.

While I led Bascule out of her stall and put her on the crossties, Thierry laid the saddle across a sturdy, wooden saddle horse. Before I had seen only the saddle tree, but the black leather covering it now showed off his handicraft and artistry.

 _“C’est belle, Thierry.”_ I ran my fingers over the leather seat.

 _“Merci.”_ He greeted Bascule, stroking her neck and observing her temperament.

“It’s a close contact saddle?”

“Yes, it’s the old style he likes because it keeps him closer to the horse. His seat is so strong he doesn’t need all that padding between them to feel secure.”

I knew exactly how strong his seat was and what noises he made when I grasped it.

“He asked for a jumping saddle that balanced forward,” Thierry continued, “and this gives him a little more room to maneuver with a slightly narrower twist for his pelvis.”

My hand absentmindedly covered my mouth when I thought of the maneuvering room he needed, and Copia entered the stable then. He looked the same as he did in the evening, wearing his black riding clothes with freshly painted black eyes. We exchanged a prolonged look before I broke the silence.

“Master Copia,” I acknowledged, looking to Thierry as I stepped back from the saddle.

“Nice to you see you again, sir.” Thierry outstretched his hand and Copia shook it and nodded.

Copia walked around the saddle, inspecting it, as Thierry explained how he customized it for him. Suddenly, he swung his leg over it, writhing into its pocket and placing his feet in the stirrups, before he laid eyes on me again.

“Let me check your fit,” Thierry said.

I stayed quiet as I watched him work on Copia’s lower back and pelvis. He checked where his seat bones hit the seat pan, and then his pelvic tilt, ensuring the small of his back was straight. Copia relaxed and dropped his jaw as Thierry slipped fingers beneath and around his body, and I felt myself become hot. Thierry crouched and adjusted the stirrup leathers next, tapping Copia’s legs when he wanted him to apply pressure, and inspecting the saddle’s pressure points.

“How does it feel? It holds you nicely.” Thierry wrote notes on a clipboard he brought.

Copia grunted in agreement before fixating on me again, licking his lips. Each look was more fervid than the last.

“Let’s fit Bascule then,” Thierry said, looking up from his clipboard when it became quiet. It relieved me when Copia broke eye contact to dismount.

Thierry placed the saddle on Bascule’s bare back without a pad, sliding it backwards until it stopped. Pushing his fingers between the pommel and her withers, he measured the clearance and nodded his satisfaction as he stepped back. He checked the relationship of the pommel to the cantle, the levelness of the seat and the gullet clearance. Then he pressed on the seat, checking the panel pressure by running his hand under them, and finally reviewing the seat length against Bascule’s body.

“It all looks good,” he said as he grabbed his clipboard, writing more notes. “Let’s use your thinnest new pad and put the girth on, and we’ll get him up there.”

When I had her tacked and bridled, Thierry checked the fit and girth as I pulled a mounting block over for Copia and handed him the reins. He petted her before he climbed up, grunting when he slipped into the saddle’s swale. It stayed in place, and she nickered under his weight. Thierry checked the wither clearance as I walked a safe distance behind Bascule to see daylight running the saddle’s length.

I admired Copia’s posture, his upper body standing tall but not stiff, his hips open and legs dropped. I moved to his side, viewing the line from his ear and sideburns through his elbow and hip to his ankle. When I touched his leg to see if he was loose, he looked down upon me and lowered his eyes, and Bascule emitted a blow. I gave his leg a pat, and when I stepped back they walked out of the stable.

Copia had a small dressage arena next to the pasture, but rarely rode in it, preferring his long trail rides instead. Thierry and I stood near the fence and watched him warm up. As they walked in a straight line away from us, the saddle remained squarely on Bascule’s back.

“Now watch,” Thierry advised as they started circles. The saddle didn’t rock, and the side-to-side movement changed in proportion to their direction. _“Bon,”_ Thierry muttered under his breath. _“C’est bon.”_

After a few minutes, they broke into a trot and then a canter, making the circles smaller.

“She’s tense,” Thierry commented. “Her rhythm is off,” he added as Copia transitioned through different tempos.

Suddenly, Bascule stopped and reared, Copia staying with her as she then twisted and bucked for several meters before galloping the short length of the arena.

“She’s fiery all right,” Thierry said, shaking his head. “The saddle’s already slipped, but look at his seat and legs.” Copia stayed securely in the saddle as we watched her rear again, moving with her and throwing his head back, matching her unruliness almost as if he was rousing her himself.

Copia slowed her into a trot and completed a circle before walking back, keeping himself centered in the off-kilter saddle with his legs.

When he dismounted, his bulge reappeared, and I stared at it in disbelief until he held out the reins. It didn’t matter that we had company? Thierry thankfully hadn’t noticed as he inspected the saddle for forthcoming adjustments.

Copia’s gloved hand squeezed my forearm as I took the reins from him, his ardent eyes softening. He then put his palm on Thierry’s upper back and left it there to say goodbye.

“Thank you, sir.” Thierry said over his shoulder, and I watched Copia turn on one leg and head back towards the stable.

A half hour later, Bascule was in the pasture again, and Thierry had gone. As I unloaded the cart in the tack room, I cursed when I saw Copia in the corner of my eye. He was sitting on the short end of the bench, waiting.

“You startled me. You’re still here?” He stared at me like kindling ready to burst into flame, and I quietly closed and locked the door.

I walked to him and cautiously mounted his lap as his hands slid down my back, our eyes meeting. I squeezed his legs between mine and held them there as my pelvis found a comfortable swale against his cock, making him grunt.

“This saddle is hard,” I whispered as our faces touched. His eager, gloved hand pulled a shirt button open as he kissed me, but I pushed it away. I gave the touches.

Holding my body still, I put both hands to his neck, reaching behind his ears. I pressed down slightly once, and then a second time, and he yielded and lowered his head. His eyes flickered as he realized my game, perfectly willing to serve as my stallion, and I rocked my pelvis slowly as a reward.

“Attaboy.”

I gently pressed my fingers to one side of his head. He closed his eyes as he turned his nose down and to the side towards his flank, and I rolled my pelvis over him a second time, yielding a quiet moan from us both.

I touched the sides of his torso one at a time, as he bent left and then right, but when I pressed against his chest, he hesitated and raised his head. Wrapping an arm around my ass, he spread his knees and slid back along the long length of the bench, preserving my pelvic tilt.

“Smart,” I murmured, as he pressed the heel of his other hand over my pussy and rubbed two fingers over the seam of my riding pants.

I wasn’t finished, but his pressure was firmer and more demanding than mine.

My arms went around his neck to hold on as he unfastened my pants and dragged them below my hips.

He unzipped a glove and laid two fingers in my mouth, watching as I bit down on the fingertips while he pulled back, leaving it hanging between my teeth. I dropped it and moaned as he immersed his bare fingers in my saturated pussy. He sucked my lower lip as I buckled, losing my posture, but his arm held my haunches forward, rendering me defenseless to his petting.

“Take care of this,” I whispered before he took my breath away. I moaned against his tongue as it filled my mouth, and he stood and carried me to the worktable, setting me down on Bascule’s folded pad, my pelvis raised. He removed my boots and then slowly pulled my pants and underwear to the floor.

He inhaled as my scent filled the room, and his hand hovered over the zipper of his breeches, his cock still ascending. A pained expression flashed across his face as he contemplated unzipping, but instead he pressed my thighs open and buried his face in my pussy as I collapsed backwards.

His muzzle was rough and hungry as he lapped and gulped, ravenous as a wolf. He sucked hard, and I cried out at the sudden intensity. He didn’t go slow, and he didn’t focus on my clit, instead sliding his mustache everywhere and leaving wet trails behind.

I felt his sideburns when my legs slipped over his shoulders, and his tongue swirled deep. When he pressed harder, I felt his nose and groaned, wishing I could last longer, but I needed it so much I couldn’t slow him down.

It surprised him when I came, and he pulled back when my body spasmed, looking over me. It wasn’t mind-blowing but satisfying—for now.

When I opened my eyes, he was still between my legs watching me, thoroughly overwhelmed. I wouldn’t forget that look: his mouth open in frozen anticipation, his cheeks streaked and chin dribbling, eyes gleaming.

When I lifted my legs and rolled to the side, he stood up straight and pulled out his kerchief to wipe his face, and then he retrieved his glove where it had fallen. Before he left the tack room, he hesitantly touched my arm, and I smiled at him. When our eyes met, his were full of pride.

  


* * *

  


Hours later, I was bridling Copia’s horse for his evening ride when I heard his footsteps behind me in the stable.

“I should have said it earlier, but thank you... for today,” I said with my back turned, fastening the throat latch buckle.

“What did I do?” I cringed at the voice and spun around suddenly, surprised.

“Alexandre, what are you doing here?”

He smiled in mockery of my unwelcoming tone, leaning in to _faire la bise,_ and I returned the pecks on the cheek.

“I wanted to know if you could ride tomorrow. With me.”

Copia passed through the doorway in time to hear his proposal, and I fell silent as he approached us.

“Master Copia,” I greeted him, feeling embarrassed I couldn’t say anything more in front of Alexandre.

“Master Copia, sir,” echoed Alexandre. Copia didn’t acknowledge him right away, taking his time to study my visage. His gloved hand softly cupped my chin and held it, and I hoped he found what he was looking for in my eyes before I broke away, smiling at Alexandre like this was how Copia greeted everyone.

I placed the reins in Copia’s palm as he stared at me, but I didn’t follow when he led his horse out of the stable to mount up.

“A ride tomorrow after your morning jobs then?” Alexandre asked when we were alone. It relieved me he didn’t ask about Copia.

“Yes.” I smiled at him. “Now let me get back to work.” We exchanged goodbye kisses, and I pushed him towards the door, locking it after I watched him walk a safe distance back to the château.

When Copia returned after his ride so did our routine, his erection bulging when he dismounted and still there after I cleaned and put away the tack. I waited for him in the adjacent stall as he finished grooming his horse, and when I heard her stall door close, he approached me with his breeches already unzipped and falling off his hips.

I steered him so his back was against the half wall. It was my turn to study him. He seemed calmer than the previous night, and I saw a hint of smugness from our afternoon in the tack room. As I observed him, he reached into his breeches and lifted his cock out, giving it a stroke.

“Don’t touch,” I whispered, and he lifted his gloved hand to my breast instead, sliding a finger between the buttons to graze my pendant. His torment was visible in the deep lines of his face, and I put my hands to his sideburns.

“Thank you for today,” I finally said, and I saw the pride swell in his eyes. I felt it too as he pulled me against his cock with his free arm.

When I pushed back against his chest, he loosened his hold. I took each of his hands and placed them on the stall bars near his shoulders, and he gripped them and widened his stance as I kneeled.

He sighed when I took him in my mouth, swirling my tongue yet struggling to lubricate his full girth. I watched his lips part as his pelvis pressed forward, seeking extra depth I couldn’t give. When I put a hand to his hip to slow him down, he tensed and blew air out his nose.

I continued on, and a gloved hand came down to my head as he moaned and heaved forward. I couldn’t breathe and withdrew, gasping, and he snorted as his hand went for his cock.

“No, don’t touch.” I stood and lifted his hand back to its position. His eyes sparked as I grabbed a lead rope from the wall, slowly tying the offending wrist to the bars and then the other. He nickered in his throat as he tested the tension.

“It’s difficult, I know,” I whispered, as we stood face to face, and I twisted my hands slowly in opposite directions over his wet cock as it continued to broaden and extend. When his groan rose in pitch, I stopped to release the pressure, and I held his gaze as I watched him pant, his tongue visible.

I softly pressed our foreheads together as I continued, taking my time, and he relented his stare, yielding slow flutters of eyelashes as he roused again. His breath was warm, his crow’s-feet crinkling beneath the black paint as the warm tingling intensified. When I released him, I felt his moan of disappointment when he nuzzled my cheek.

I started again slowly, varying the pressure of the strokes and light squeezes. He rallied, his breath quickening and steamy, as his hips moved sensually to my rhythm, back and forth. His eyes were closed, and I tipped my head back to watch him move. There he was. In that moment I found my debonair horseman.

His louder gutturals signaled his insufferable limit, and when I released the pressure and he surrendered, tugging his wrists against the lead rope, I stole his growl with a tender kiss.

The burnished highlights of his eyes shone brightly as I pulled up his breeches and carefully untied him, his hands softly falling to my waist but not letting go.

“Hold on,” I whispered, laying my hands over his. “Just a little longer.”


	7. Maître

  
_Someone’s flesh is rotting tonight_  


 

“I’m ready,” Alexandre reassured me when he opened his bedroom door, his hair still damp and mussed from towel drying it. He flashed his smile as we kissed hello, grabbing his sunglasses on the way out.

Alexandre’s room was in a different wing than mine, and I scanned the portraits and landscapes that dotted the walls between the windows as we walked towards the foyer and the sound of the vacuum. Gabrielle, a housekeeper, paused and waved us across the carpeted runner.

“Where are you going?” I asked when Alexandre turned towards Copia’s library.

“The kitchen. I asked Franchot to make us something. You haven’t eaten, have you?”

I shook my head and followed him, watching the library doors as we passed, and we arrived to find a picnic packed and waiting. Alexandre grabbed bottles of rosé wine and water from the kitchen’s beverage chiller, and Franchot waved from behind the large range where he was cooking. I shouted my thanks over the hum of the exhaust hood as we left for the stable.

I had put Laguerre and Ankou in their stalls after my morning jobs and laid out their tack. Ankou was a workhorse on the property, and Copia liked to use him for vineyard cultivation on the estate, the horse-drawn plow easier to maneuver over the rocks where the old vines grew. During harvest, Copia insisted everyone pitch in to help pick the grapes by hand, and Ankou pulled the cart. I was looking forward to my first crush in early autumn. Vineyard yields were small and never left the estate, but it was a château tradition that endeared Copia to his most trusted stewards.

At the stable, Alexandre and I each tacked our own horses, placing our provisions in cantle bags. When we departed, walking towards the meadow trail, I looked up at Copia’s darkened window. Only two nights had passed since I was there, and as my soreness faded, my emotions intensified. The whole affair seemed ridiculous, as if I had fallen under some kind of spell, but I couldn’t deny my feelings.

“Are you all right?” Alexandre asked when he saw me shaking my head.

“Fine.” I smiled as Laguerre broke into a trot and pulled ahead, taking the trail’s first fork toward the hills.

Although it was hot, we enjoyed the hour-long ride to the stream bank. I tied the horses to a tree with lead ropes while Alexandre filled canvas buckets for them from the stream.

We spread out a blanket in the shade, and as I sat down Alexandre poured and handed me water and then opened the wine. There was no breeze, and I opened the top buttons of my shirt to cool off.

Franchot had packed three courses: a tomato tart, plates of cold roast chicken served over green salad, and strawberries grown on the château property. As we ate, Alexandre shared stories from his recent card nights in the salon and plans he had later in the summer for his off days.

“You seem... distant.” We had finished eating, and I was reclining with my head resting on his thigh.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be.” I angled my head back and watched him finish the wine in his glass as he stroked my hair. There were still marks on his nose from his sunglasses.

“Are you seeing someone?”

“No.” The confidence in my deflection surprised me.

“If you were in trouble...” He looked at the horses and then back at me. “If you were in trouble, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” I propped myself up on my elbow.

“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

“What is?” I put my hand on his leg, and he hesitated before answering.

“The stable yesterday. Master Copia was... strange.”

“He’s eccentric. You know that.” I broke out in goosebumps as he studied my face.

“I’m sorry I asked. I’ve just heard things.”

“About me?” My anxiety spiked.

“No, about Master Copia’s past. I’m sorry,” he blurted when he saw my reaction. “I didn’t mean to cause alarm.” His hand went to my shoulder to guide my head back to his lap.

“How did you get this?” My pendant was peeking out from beneath my shirt, and he pulled the chain up over his fingers for a closer look.

“I found it in my room.” It wasn’t a lie. He rolled it over before letting go and putting his hand in my hair again. We were always affectionate with each other, but it felt different this time.

“We should get back,” he said. “You can’t be late.”

  


* * *

  


Alexandre’s words stuck with me when I saw Copia that evening. He had a past, one I often wondered about myself. All I knew of him was his reputation as one of France’s great riding masters, _un grand maître de l'équitation,_ who transcended the classical French approach and applied his own modern techniques. I couldn’t see working for him as anything but a privilege, and I didn’t understand Alexandre’s concern. Jealousy maybe, I thought, although I would never tell Alexandre how intimate Copia and I had become.

I wasn’t finished putting the tack away from his ride when Copia entered the tack room. He set down the grooming box and searched the long wall until he spotted the breastplate—his breastplate. He pulled it down from its hook and approached me without lowering his eyes, presenting it like a gift that I accepted.

He unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, setting it on the worktable. When he tilted his head down, I slipped the leather over his bare skin, and he sighed at the feeling. He removed his boots, and as he pulled his breeches off, I quickly closed and locked the tack room door.

He stood calmly before me naked, his cock fully thickened, and I dampened at just the sight of him. His eyes beckoned, and when I approached, he turned his back so I could fasten the rings of his harness. He was eager. He leaned into my hands as I ran them over his warm skin before I cinched the straps snug, pulling the final two between his legs and fastening them above his ass. His cock ballooned between them when he faced forward again, his eyes crinkling in elation.

The tack room had two load-bearing support posts, and as he watched me construct a highline between them with strong nylon rope, he looked like a babe in the woods: humble and submissive and ready to do whatever I asked. I threaded two swivel ties, tethering the back of his harness to the highline first, and he flinched when the bull snap clicked shut. He reached for me, fingering the chain of my pendant, and I took his hands in mine, holding them in reassurance before I bound his wrists together with stirrup hobbles. His body wilted as I strung his wrists to the second swivel tie, raising them comfortably over his head.

His face changed then—he looked drunk with desire and had trouble keeping his eyes open as they turned glassy. I circled him and waited as his apprehension maturated, until he could see me, and when I had his attention, I picked up his personal riding crop.

It was old leather, supple but still firm since Copia never used it on his rides. I watched him carefully as I placed it to his neck, and his body twitched at the first touch. While staring at him, I ran the crop slowly across his chest and over his shoulders, and he stayed still, keenly meeting my gaze.

I moved to his side and dragged the crop sluggishly down his back, bit by bit, and over his curved, strong ass. His breathing hastened as he continued to enjoy himself, but he remained motionless. Tonight there was no tugging against the restraints and no spasms in his legs. He was controlled.

I traced over each muscular thigh several times before circling his abdomen, and he held his breath. He appeared unruffled on the surface, but his eyes were hot and glowing as he waited, and then I laid the keeper on the side of his cock.

He grimaced and looked down at it, his cock dripping on the floor. He groaned quietly as I teased the keeper across the length of his erection before lifting it and placing it to his balls. Gritting his teeth, he stayed still, determined to persevere.

I watched his face intently as I continued, and he entered a new headspace. The anguish of not being able to come for the third night in a row lapsed as he became numb to the discomfort, indifferent to the ache. He stared me down as the crop glided over his seeping cock and balls again and again, simply taking it. While he had no choice but to accept it, I saw in his eyes he embraced it.

After an hour, and still he pressed on, I withdrew the crop. He had nothing left to prove, and I wouldn’t purposefully chafe or harm him. When I took his cheeks in my hands, he leaned against them, not breaking his stare, and I wanted him more than ever. This had gone on long enough.

I unzipped my own pants and pushed them down to my knees, sinking my fingers into my flooded pussy as he watched. I lubricated his reddened cock in my hands as he moaned, and then I pushed its head between my vulva against my swollen clit.

He growled mildly but stayed resolute and unmoving as I rubbed his cock exactly where I wanted it, and we both felt the vehemence of its relief. His head slightly leaned back, and I clutched his ass, slipping my hand under a strap and holding him where I needed him as my chin collapsed into the loose skin on his neck, losing myself in his scent.

“I need you,” I gushed into his neck, before pressing my nose into his sideburns. My vulva swelled as they spread wider around his cock, and I slid him lower and lower with each stroke until he skimmed my entrance before coming back up to my clit.

He still hadn’t moved his legs or hips, and I wanted him to know he shouldn’t resist.

“I want you to come tonight,” I breathed as I nipped his ear. “We’re both going to come.” I groaned as I pushed his cock down for its final lap across my pussy, and then I let go and bent down to remove my boots and pants.

When I stood upright in front of him, his mouth was open and his eyes had reddened. He stared at my bare legs and pussy, and I unbuttoned my shirt so he could see the rest of me.

I took a step forward, and his eyes flickered before I heard the first words he had spoken in two days.

“Not like this.”

I stopped cold at his raspy voice, shocked. What? He didn’t want me? He said it plainly with no feeling at all, so emotionless that it stung. I suddenly felt embarrassed, pulling my shirt over my body, and I searched his face for answers but he gave none.

I shrunk away to escape his stare and covered my mouth with my hand. I was humiliated. What had I done?

He cleared his throat and pulled against the swivel tie with his wrists, and when I turned to confront him, I recognized his discomfort.

He breathed a sigh of relief as I unfastened his wrists and lowered them, removing the hobbles. I rubbed his wrists and hands to stimulate the blood flow, and then I removed the bull snap from the highline, and the pressure was off his torso.

His knees buckled slightly as I loosened the rings and pulled the breastplate off, being mindful of the straps between his legs. His torso glistened from sweat that formed beneath the harness, and he sat abruptly on the bench with his legs apart, hunching over with his elbows on his knees. I sat down next to him, waiting silently as his breathing stabilized.

After several minutes, when he raised his head at last, he slumped into my body, exhausted.

 _“Maître,”_ I whispered into his hair as I put my arms around him.

  


* * *

  


That night we walked back to the château together for the first time. It was still warm when we stepped outside, and after I surveyed the grounds, I took hold of Copia’s arm.

It was tranquil, our footsteps on the pathway making the only sound, but my mind was anxious over the windows still lit inside the château and whom we might encounter. I also wasn’t sure how to address Copia—or our situation—once we were inside. I had thought tonight would be the night for us, and I regretted pushing him so far.

When we entered the château, I released his arm and surveyed the foyer before we walked down the hallway to the stairs. I put my hand on the banister post as we stared at each other, and he touched my cheek before he turned and went upstairs alone. I was crestfallen.

I felt the tears forming as I ran down the hallway to my room. I already felt stupid, and it irritated me he could hurt my feelings so easily. Tears were the last straw. I showered, letting the water run down my face and wash them away, but when I put on my nightclothes, I still felt heartsick. It wasn’t like me to have outbursts like this, and it disgusted me.

I couldn’t sleep as I thought over what I had done and wondered when it had gone wrong. He had enjoyed himself hadn’t he? He had brought me the breastplate—it was his idea.

I cursed. I needed to get him out of my mind, which meant reading something before bed. Built-in bookshelves studded my hallway between the windows, and when I had restless nights, I would choose a volume and read myself to sleep.

“What are you doing here?” Copia loomed in front a bookcase in his robe when I opened my door, his back turned.

When he spun and faced me, my stomach churned. He had bathed and removed his black eye paint, revealing large, dark gray circles under his eyes. It was the first time I had seen him like this, and I recoiled against my door as he approached and handed me a book.

When he placed it my hands, I read the title: _Dressage: Des Reprises N°1, à la Reprise Olympique, les Principes et Leur Application,_ by Colonel Challan-Belval, 1964. It wasn’t what I had in mind, but it looked sleep-inducing.

“Thank you,” I said before I looked up at him, noticing how his skin suddenly looked sallow beneath his freckles. Did he know I was studying equitation while I lived at the château? Perhaps I had mentioned it.

His hand went to my cheek as I stared at his gray circles, and I closed my eyes when he slid it behind my ear and cupped the back of my head. He lowered his lips to my neck above my pendant, his kisses soft and wet.

“Someone will see us,” I whispered as I leaned back against the door, surrendering to his relentless mouth. His fingers entwined in my hair as his kisses deepened, the firm pressure driving me wild. I moved to catch his mouth, but he held me back, denying me.

“Please,” I breathed, clutching the book to my chest. “You need to come inside.” I put my hand to the door lever behind me and pushed it open, shuffling backwards into my room as his hold on me broke. He leaned forward and put his hands to the door frame, but didn’t cross the threshold.

He reached for the door lever and hesitated.

“Sweet dreams,” he said quietly.

When the door clicked shut, I was too speechless to read.


	8. Bareback

  
_Like no other to you_  


 

At sunrise, after I fed the horses and turned them out into the pasture, I heard a car. I ran to the far side of the board fence to see the Phantom disappear down the winding driveway beneath the tree canopy. Was Copia going to the city again? I frowned at the thought of another trip, wondering where he was headed and how long he would be away.

While cleaning the stable, I imagined what he was doing. Who was with him? Did he see business acquaintances or friends? It bothered me how little I knew of him and how he spent his days.

By the time I finished my morning jobs, I felt anxious. Last night was strange, the way he lurked outside my bedroom. The dark gray circles beneath his eyes frightened me, and for the first time I thought he looked old—perhaps ancient was a better word for it. I never thought about his age because of his lean and muscular physique and impressive cock, but now I dwelled on it. Was he twice my age? More?

Somehow, his silvered and pallid face also endeared me to him, as if he trusted me enough to show me his true self. I wanted to ask him how it happened, but that would be rude, and it wasn’t important. All that mattered was how I felt when he touched me. I had never met someone who could both inflict and ease my heartache by seeing me every night.

I sat at a table with Gabrielle when I returned to the château for breakfast.

“Did you and Alexandre have a nice ride yesterday?” She asked when I set my napkin in my lap.

“We did, thank you.”

“Are you dating?” I was briefly taken aback at her directness. We were acquaintances, but she wasn’t a friend I would confide in.

“No, we’re just close friends.”

“I would date him.”

“Oh. Should I let him know?” I smiled before sipping my coffee.

“No, I have a boyfriend in town.”

“How lovely.”

“But there are too many attractive men here,” she leaned in to whisper, “including Master Copia.” She raised her eyebrows. “You’re lucky to spend so much time with him.”

“It’s just my job,” I brushed it off. “You find him attractive?”

“I didn’t at first, but there’s something different about him now. I see him in the early morning sometimes when I’m cleaning, and—well, you’ve seen his body.”

“Did you see him this morning?” I finished spreading jam on my baguette and set my knife down.

“No, I stayed in town last night.” She raised her eyebrows again and had second thoughts. “Please don’t tell anyone I was late to work. I need this job.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” I paused. “Have you ever seen Master Copia without the black paint around his eyes?”

“No, no one has. It’s strange, isn’t it, that he wears makeup everyday.” She shook her head. “Rich people.”

Gabrielle excused herself to return to work, and I thought about what she said as I finished breakfast. She noticed something different. And no one had seen him without his eyes blackened—no one but me.

  


* * *

  


After breakfast I showered and settled in my room to read. I hadn’t noticed last night, but the dressage book Copia gave me had an autographed inscription inside the cover: _“Pour mon cher ami, Maître Copia, Colonel Challan-Belval.”_ I flipped to the title page to check the publication date. 54 years ago? He must have signed it years later. Copia couldn’t be old enough to be a riding master back then. Could he?

I turned the page to read and didn’t stop until there was a knock on my door. It was Béatrice asking me to lunch, and she noticed the book in my arm.

“There are more equitation books in Master Copia’s library,” she told me later while we were dining. “I am sure he would loan them to you if you asked. How are your studies?”

“They’re going well, thank you. I have learned so much just by observing Master Copia.”

She nodded and laughed. “Observing is all you can do. He’s always been reticent.”

“May I ask,” I started cautiously, “what you know of his past?” She looked at me curiously, and I explained. _“Comment il est devenu l'un des grands maîtres de l'équitation.”_

“He had a lonely childhood from what I understand. No friends. Only horses. And he became enamored with them from an early age, spending all his time riding. As a young boy he captivated others with his riding technique, and the Cadre Noir found out about him and summoned him to Saumur.”

“Quite an honor for such a young boy. And a privilege.”

“Not at all.” Béatrice shook her head. “They tore him away from the horses he loved. He was devastated, and I’ve heard that’s when he stopped speaking.”

“What about his family?”

“All have died. No one knows much about them. It’s only since he’s returned to the château in recent years he has spoken at all. The estate was passed down to him years ago.”

“It’s such a sad story.”

“For all his accomplishments, you wouldn’t know the depths of his loneliness.” She lowered her voice and leaned across the table. “For him to trust you with his horses as he does, it means something. Don’t take your responsibility lightly. The other stablehands did not last like you have.”

Was she warning me? I smiled and nodded, not sure what to make of her comment.

After lunch on the way back to my room, I stopped at Copia’s library. I didn’t think he would mind if I quickly browsed his books since he loaned me one himself. The doors were unlocked, and I closed them but didn’t latch them shut. I only planned to stay a minute.

The aroma instantly overtook me. The ashtray on his leather desk was empty, but I smelled cigars in the throw pillow I picked up and held to my chest, and the scent lingered in the blanket strewn over his chair and the window curtains. Behind his desk was a bar cart full of several kinds of Cognac, Armagnac and brandy and some glasses.

Bookcases were on three of the four walls, lined not only with books but with dressage ribbons and other honors and memorabilia, and several framed photos of Master Copia with other horses and riders.

I studied the pictures intently. He was easy to pick out with his blackened eyes, but it was difficult to discern his age in them. He was striking in his Cadre Noir uniform as a young man, but the picture that caught my attention was a clean-faced boy standing next to a white horse. He wasn’t smiling in the photo, but he seemed at peace.

I turned to sit on the sofa, and Copia was standing in the doorway, watching me.

“I-I’m sorry, Master Copia. I should have asked.” Suddenly I felt like an intruder going through his belongings, and I dropped the throw pillow where I found it.

“I need my ride early,” his voice rasped.

“Oh. When?”

“Now.”

“Of course.” I lowered my head when I passed by him, and he pulled the door closed behind us, staying silent on our long walk outside to the tack room. I hoped he wasn’t angry with me.

When we arrived, I pulled out the cart, and he waved it off, locating his horse’s bridle on the wall and taking it down himself. It reminded me of the previous night, but before I could say anything, he left for the pasture, and I hastily followed him outside.

I stayed back and watched as his horse came to him immediately once again feeling like an intruder. He bridled her and led her out of the gate, showering her with affection.

He looked young as he put his hands to her mane and vaulted onto her, one of the most graceful things I had ever seen. When he landed, his face was ecstatic at the bareback contact as he settled into position, flexing his thighs until he found the right place to drop his legs. After petting her, they circled back to where I was standing outside the stable.

He pulled up to the high mounting block next to me and gazed down, extending his gloved hand.

My heart palpitated, and my vison blurred at the edges as our eyes locked. When my expression questioned him, he nodded for me to take it. While I had never been on his horse, he had never been more sure.

I took his hand and climbed the mounting block, nearly stumbling, meeting his eyes again when I reached the top. He squeezed my palm as I stretched my leg over his horse and then pulled my hips quickly so I landed in front of him, and I felt my whole body flush.

Lightheaded, I thought I might faint as he pulled me back against him, my head falling against his shoulder. He sensed it too, wrapping an arm around me as his horse stayed still.

“The extra weight isn’t good for her,” I spit out, suddenly worried about his horse. “She isn’t used to this.” My whole body was hot. I melted into his chest as I felt the gentle pressure of his arm over my breasts, the squeeze of his thighs, and his thick cock already hard against my ass.

“It’s not far,” he breathed in my ear.

“What is? Where are we going?” I sounded ridiculously breathless.

His horse moved forward then, walking, and the rhythm sedated me. He held the reins in one hand, his other arm keeping me secure. I put my hands on his thighs to balance myself, turning my face into his neck when I felt flighty.

When I opened my eyes several minutes later, I could sit forward and appreciate the ride. He put the reins in my hands.

“Wait, I don’t know where we’re going.” I recognized the trail into the hills, but that’s all I knew.

“She does,” he remarked, giving his horse a pat between my legs. He lifted my matted hair away from my neck, cooling my skin on such a hot day, and pulled back the pendant’s chain. I whimpered when he leaned in and bit at my hairline—like a breeding stallion—and cupped my breasts in his hands.

I turned my head to the side to kiss him, and I felt his thighs tighten around me as our balance shifted. I moaned into his mouth before I had to break away and straighten my posture.

He leaned back far, taking me with him as he asked his horse for a running walk—a trot that wouldn’t bounce me off his crotch. I felt him sit deep, and then deeper still, his thighs cuddling but not gripping her, his lower legs relaxed. His seat strength kept us on her back as she moved into the country gait.

“Relax,” he murmured in my ear, as I tried to absorb the movement, loosening my legs. When I slipped forward and bounced, he placed the heel of his palm over my pussy, holding my pelvis in place and dipping me backwards with him again. I felt the tension in my legs ease as a new torrent swept between them.

His hands and mouth roamed everywhere until our ride ended several minutes later, leaving me blistering. He tilted me forward as his horse slowed back into a walk, lifting his palm to let my pussy breathe, and I slipped my hands behind my back and over his mountainous bulge.

“Fuck me like this,” I mumbled into his mouth, as his horse stopped and he lifted my knee and turned me sidesaddle.

He clutched my hair and pulled me back gently, his eyes inflamed from my words. “I might, but she needs to rest.” His tone was lower and darker, and I sighed when he nipped my neck once more before releasing me. He dismounted before reaching to catch me as I jumped down.

We were at the guest house in the northeastern corner of the estate. It was an old stone _baserri,_ or _maison basque,_ built centuries ago, before the château. Its entrance faced the hillside, protecting it from the weather, and Copia held my hand for the first time as I stared at the _fleur-de-lis_ symbol carved into the crest stone above the arched doors. Dried silver thistles hung from the ringed door handles.

Although it was renovated, the _baserri_ kept its original floor plan with a stable occupying half of the first floor. Copia led his horse inside, guiding her through a wooden half gate. I poked my head in, and it was immaculately clean. Fresh food and water awaited her next to a bed of straw on the stone floor. 

“Do you have another stablehand?” I asked, and he looked at me but didn’t answer. I watched him stroke her neck and remove her bridle, and then I wandered across the hall. Before I could explore the other rooms, he was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. His hand went to my lower back, gesturing for me to go up first.

The view stunned me. I hadn’t realized how far we had climbed, and I could see the château’s steep roofline on the hill below, and the ocean in the distance. Copia slid open the large glass doors to the balcony until they disappeared into the walls, and a breeze ruffled the linen curtains, bringing the room to life.

I felt his hands at my waist as I turned to face the upholstered bed, taking in my new surroundings. The large well-dressed bedroom had closets on one end, exposed ceiling beams, and a wide-plank hardwood floor worn smooth, dotted with soft rugs.

He looked at the bed, and then at me, before his jaw came to rest in the crook of my neck.

I turned and kissed him, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping his gloves off. He shed his pants and boots, his mouth latching onto my throat as his hands undressed me and pulled my clothes away slowly, layer by layer, until I wore only his pendant.

He lifted the coverlet over the bench at the foot of the bed and pulled me down with him onto the pillows, and I reveled at the feeling of his warm skin against mine. Although I was in his bed once before, it felt more thrilling this time. There was a connection I couldn’t explain, and I saw it reflected in his blackened eyes as I lay next to him, drenched in anticipation.

He slipped two fingers inside me right away and left them there, alternating between curling and separating them, his face hovering over mine, patiently yet eagerly waiting for it to break. When I breathed heavily, he moved his other palm to hold one breast while he suckled the other. My leg stirred restlessly as I buckled under his touch, and he locked it into his place between his thighs, holding me open to him.

When I moaned for him, he lifted his head and his tongue filled my mouth, and I was so wet already I didn’t feel the third finger. Or the fourth. But I lost myself and screamed when his thumb brushed over my clit, tightening around his fingers that had worked themselves up to the knuckles.

“Again,” he said darkly, his voice full of lust. His thumb glided more insistently over my clit on subsequent strokes, and I lurched forward and screamed into his collarbone as he curled his fingers, panting afterwards for more. And then again for more.

When my pussy tingled sharply, I pulled away before being overstimulated. I wanted to come when he did—together. I rolled him onto his back, and his cock sprawled across his thigh, leaving a wet trail.

He noticed my nervousness as I climbed on top of him, and his hands cupped my ass to support me as I positioned my wobbly legs. As I was looking at his cock beneath me, ready to grapple with it, he pulled me forward, lowering me over his chin.

“Fuck,” I whispered as I felt his tongue slide into me and my legs trembled. His eyes turned feral as I watched him devour me, thirsty for my downpour. His tongue orbited my clit each time before sinking deep, and my lower body hitched as a deluge of pre-cum surged over his mustache, his lips struggling to suck it all down.

“Fuck,” I mumbled again—urgently this time—as I eased off with my legs. He gave me space but wouldn’t let me go. My head lolled to the side when two of his fingers spread my inner lips, and then I felt the cool lubricant. I didn’t see it coming, and when our eyes met as he slipped his fingers inside me again, I moaned for his cock, and he finally relented.

He stroked himself with his lubed hand as I scooted backwards. When I lowered myself, he held still, attentively watching and then groaning as the head of his cock disappeared.

He pushed gently upwards with his pelvis as I lowered myself further, his hands on my hips, still watching me closely. It was uncomfortable at first, but as he adjusted the angle, half his cock vanished. I heard his familiar guttural sounds form in his chest as I slid up and down his shaft, but I couldn’t take him any deeper without ripping myself apart.

The arousal from being stretched so wide left me incoherent, being repeatedly emptied and filled, each erogenous spot harvested one by one. His breathing was heavy, and he growled and held my hips down when our half-lidded eyes met. He stared at me and grunted as I felt the surge of his intoxicatingly warm, pent-up release, succumbing to my own and collapsing onto his chest as our bodies heaved together. With one arm, he held me tight as his other hand swept my hair up, biting my hairline behind my ear as I felt another rush of pulses inside me, my hips shuddering in response to his before we moved together, rising and falling in a final, effortless swell.

All my hair stood on end as waves of warmth washed over me, through me. When he released my skin from his teeth, he delicately stroked my neck with his knuckles, and I shivered at the sensitivity. He entwined his fingers in the chain of my pendant, and as I quieted, and he gradually softened, we were burning up and sweaty. I shifted to untangle myself, and when I rolled away from him, his hand covered my forearm.

“Stay.”


	9. Another

  
_What you've done you cannot undo_  


 

I woke up before twilight, cold.

My hand slid across the sheet to the empty hollow where his body was. How I wanted him to be there.

I didn’t want to rise and have it end. Half asleep, I pulled the coverlet around my shoulders. I could see the closet doors ajar at the far end of the room, and I felt the soft nightclothes he dressed me in, taking them off before dressing me in them again.

Through the balcony’s closed glass doors was the double chaise lounge where we waited for sunset instead of taking his horse on her nightly ride. He didn’t speak as we lay there together, but I could see his thoughts. I washed the blackness from his eyes before dinner, but their fervor didn’t diminish. As the air cooled, he made sidecars from his Cognac, and his accustomed taste was a hint sweeter on his lips when he kissed me, and left me sticky when he raised his head from beneath the blanket before we returned inside.

I reached for his pillow to savor his scent. It was behind him when he leaned against the headboard, pulling me into his lap, my breasts brushing against his chest. Our faces pressed together as he slowly entered me, and I couldn’t stop tasting him.

I pulled his pillow over my face and relived the moment before rising. There were no clocks in the bedroom, but I knew my time was nearly up. As I put on a robe, I suddenly felt guilty. I didn’t know if his other horses were in the pasture all night. Or where Copia vanished.

I slipped on scuffs and checked the bathroom before going downstairs.

The rooms were dark, but a nightlight illuminated the hallway. The kitchen was empty, and I passed through dining and seating areas that led out to the small pool and patio. He was nowhere in sight. I checked the second bedroom and bath and found them untouched.

I peered over the wooden half gate and quietly opened it so more light would fall inside. Copia was curled up asleep on the stone floor, nestled against his horse’s back, his head resting on her.

I watched his chest rise and fall. He looked old again suddenly, his skin appearing ashen against his horse’s white coat, the gray circles beneath his eyes seeming darker. His horse was awake and turned her head to watch me but didn’t make a sound. We were both letting him sleep.

I closed the half door and returned upstairs to shower and dress.

The bedroom closet contained a small wardrobe of clothes in my size. I chose a red sundress last night after he asked I wear something unlike my uniform, but today I needed riding clothes. I found pants and a sleeveless shirt to put on, and it was dawn when I went downstairs again, the guest house filling with light.

Copia had risen and looked alarmed that I dressed, my hair tied up.

“You would like to leave?”

“The horses,” I explained as he stared at me.

He ambled in front of me to kiss me, and the rough stubble on his chin contrasted with the downiness of his loungewear. Both felt equally soothing.

“In the stable,” he finally answered.

I took in his dark circles and freckles, not wanting to break our embrace.

“Who did it?” I asked softly. “The horses are my job.”

He didn’t answer.

“I’ll take you back,” he said before going up the stairs.

  


* * *

  


Copia kneeled on one leg, and I stepped on his thigh to vault onto his horse. She snorted when I landed awkwardly on her back and scooted forward, and Copia stood up quickly and soothed her. He touched my leg and held it until I loosened the tension, and his palm went behind my knee, sliding it out to open my hips. I had mirrored his instructions with my other leg, but he still checked, running his hand up from behind my knee to my ass.

He handed me the reins before mounting up, and when he slid into place behind me, it felt like he belonged there. Enveloped by his thighs, I felt his breath on my neck as he slid an arm around me, and I leaned into his abdomen. His cock hardened as his horse walked, and I held my posture.

The sun was up, but it was still early, and we enjoyed the view as we headed out. His free hand rested on my hip, and my head filled with sinful thoughts as he pressed against my backside, lost in the easy rhythm of his horse’s steps through the dewy grasses. Halfway down the trail, his other hand deftly slipped under my shirt as his chin rested on my shoulder.

“I need you closer,” he said in my ear, and it gave me chills.

He counterbalanced my weight when I leaned back and to the side. His blackened eyes shone green and white, his pupils tiny specks in the sunlight, and they closed when his lips met mine.

The pasture was empty when we arrived, and he dismounted in the paddock first before helping me down. I fetched buckets of water as he checked if his horse cooled. When I returned, he tied her to the hitching post, and we watched her drink in silence. Then, he led her into the stable and unbridled her while I fetched her grooming box.

Once she was on the crossties, we groomed her together. I picked her hooves as he calmed her, and he curried her when I finished, rubbing the comb in a circular motion.

I watched him use her dandy brush to whisk out debris, and then he put her soft brush in my hand. I brushed her body while he cleaned her face with a damp cloth and then brushed her mane and tail.

We turned her out into the pasture alone.

“No ride tonight,” he said while we stood at the board fence. He stared straight ahead, admiring her. “She will rest.”

When our eyes met as we turned to leave, I knew he would fuck me. His erection loomed unbearably and riding with him left me tongue-tied. But I didn’t need to speak.

He looked me up and down before he took my hand and marched to the tack room, and I struggled to keep his pace. He led me to the worktable, bending me over it in front of him, a firm palm planted on my back. My nipples hardened against the cool surface as he stroked my neck beneath my pendant’s chain, and he stretched my shirt’s neckline to expose my shoulder, leaning forward for a possessive bite that made me wail.

“You like this?” His voice was low as his cock ground against my ass, my whole body pressed into the table.

“Yes,” I whispered as I tried to look over my shoulder at him, and he turned my chin forward and grunted. His gloves came off, and I felt his bare fingers unfasten my pants and pull them down, revealing a hidden current that had been running for several kilometers.

He eased back, using his boot to slide my feet slightly farther apart, one hand pressing the top of my ass against the table as he stroked me, and I shuddered when his thumb slipped inside and down, searching for his middle finger on the other side.

As my pussy swelled and stretched, his pressure grew more insistent, and he edged me as I had done to him in the same room two nights before.

I whimpered each time he withdrew, and when my hips grew increasingly restless at each loss, he stilled them, as if he was calming his horse.

 _“Maître,_ please.” My whimpering elicited the opposite desired effect as he slowed down and then stopped, holding me open with his fingers. I heard a zipper. _“Maître,”_ I said earnestly, urging him on. I shrieked when his mustache slid between my lips and he sucked my clit hard.

He held my ass in both hands as I came, keeping me centered over his mouth while I shook. I clutched the edge of the table as a set of large contractions overtook me, and I cried out at losing him when his tongue slipped away. I writhed on the table until I felt his leg pressure, and he disengaged my hindquarters as I felt his thickness slowly sink into my tightened pussy, his thighs pressing against mine to support me.

He was cautious, feeling each contraction and growling with them as they grew further and further apart, his cock twitching inside me between pulsations. More pressure from his legs caused me to relax and open my hips, and his girth sank further as he lifted and spread my cheeks.

I pushed my hips back for more and he refused, tensing his thighs and then squeezing my legs between his until I relented and stopped. A firm hand on my hip told me to stay still, and he held me at bay, gently gliding back and forth but not pushing me beyond my limit, the friction against my overstretched pussy arousing both of us. He established a rhythm as his palm lifted my cheek to the side for him to see better, but the tightness became unbearable as I clenched around him, and he stilled, trying to hold off.

I pushed back while he was unguarded, groaning as I climaxed, and he pinned my hips down, the gutturals quickly forming in his chest. And then I felt his heat.

He stroked my back tenderly as I felt each throb, and he ran his hand up to my shoulder when we finished.

Our skin stuck together when he pulled away, and he tugged my pants up my thighs so I could move my legs.

When I raised myself from the table, he handed me his kerchief, and there was an awkward moment when I realized he needed to leave.

“Business,” he explained. “And you have... horses.” He gestured at the stable.

I used the kerchief to wipe his face, but my scent still lingered there when he kissed me goodbye.

  


* * *

  


My jobs ran late into the day. I ate dinner with the staff and hoped to see Alexandre there, but he never arrived. When Franchot invited me to _Belote_ that evening, I agreed since Copia didn’t ride.

“Is that... Max?” I whispered to Franchot between deals as he poured us _digestifs._ I nodded over my shoulder to a dark-haired man seated in an armchair at the far end of the salon. I hadn’t seen him enter the room.

“Yes.”

“I rarely see him.”

“He keeps to himself when he’s not driving Copia around. He doesn’t like company. An odd fellow.”

I didn’t hear what Franchot said because my heart already soared. Copia had returned and was in the château.

I excused myself quickly after the match and checked the library on the way back to my room, but Copia wasn’t there. I would wait until everyone retired for the night and sneak upstairs to his bedroom.

Two hours later, I tiptoed upstairs in my nightclothes, and I knocked lightly once before letting myself in.

“Master Copia,” I whispered.

The sitting room was empty, and the double doors to his bedroom were closed. When I approached, I listened and heard nothing, and I tapped lightly on one door before opening it.

“Master Copia,” I whispered again.

My heart sank at the sight of his untouched bed in the moonlight. Where was he if he wasn’t here?

I lay down on his bed, anyway. I could wait for his return. He couldn’t be far.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed when I felt cold. I slipped under the covers, and that’s when I saw it: a framed photo of a woman on the nightstand. I sat up to look at it. It hadn’t been there last time. I picked up the picture and stared at it. Who was she? I had never seen her before.

I set the picture down and clasped my pendant, suddenly feeling tired. I didn’t know then that the first full night I would spend in his bedroom would be entirely alone.


	10. Closer

  
_I have always kept you closer than you have known_  


 

I awoke in Copia’s bed with my hand in my pussy. He never returned. And then it hit me: he spent the night with his horse again.

I straightened his linens and secretly returned to my room. Filled with a new excitement, I dressed for my morning jobs and headed to the stable well before sunrise.

His white horse stared at me, questioning my arrival. I looked in her stall and the stalls of the others, but Copia wasn’t there. I checked the tack room and came up empty.

I fed the horses and turned them into the pasture, thinking about what had transpired. It was romantic when we spent the night together at the _baserri_ even though he slept on the floor. It troubled me at first, but I admired his deep bond with his horse, and it made sense when I remembered how Béatrice explained his traumatic childhood. I would never embarrass him and mention it.

Our tack room escapade the day before was also memorable—and sexy. He seemed more confident, and I learned I could now take him—or at least part of him—painlessly if we went slow enough. He was careful and attentive to my needs, and we were figuring out how to be together. When compared to our first awkward night, he seemed to be an entirely different man.

After I cleaned the stable and put down fresh hay, I returned to the château. On the pathway as I walked back, I looked up at Copia’s window as I always did and stopped. Copia stared down at me and disappeared before I could wave.

Jean-Luc intercepted me in the foyer when I opened the door.

“Good morning. Master Copia has asked for you to join him in the library—after you’ve changed.” He looked down at my soiled uniform.

“Why?”

“You must ask him. Béatrice didn’t have details.” He handed me a slip of paper with her handwriting. I looked towards the library, but Jean-Luc blocked my passage.

“Yes sir,” I answered, before returning to my room to shower and change clothes. I daydreamed that Copia missed me so much he wanted to bend me over his leather desk.

  


* * *

  


“Master Copia?” I called as I opened the library doors after knocking. He was sitting at his desk, and I closed the doors and approached.

He didn’t look up. He was staring through a magnifying lamp at something delicate he held between point-tip tweezers. It was small and rectangular, and when he tilted it under the light, I recognized it as a postage stamp. A few sheets of scribbled personal stationery lay folded but open on his desk blotter next to a fountain pen.

“Did you enjoy my bed?” He continued to examine the stamp without looking at me.

Dumbfounded, I had nothing to say. How did he know?

I watched him slip the stamp into a protective sleeve and place it inside his letter, carefully sliding the folded papers into an envelope.

“A horse is arriving. Please board her for the day.” He looked up to ensure I understood before he reached for sealing wax and his cigar lighter.

“When?” I watched him light the wick, slowly dripping black wax over the envelope to seal it. “Béatrice didn’t schedule me.”

He pressed a stamp into the wax, leaving the _fleur-de-lis_ symbol, before extinguishing the flame. He met my gaze and didn’t respond, but I had his full attention now.

“Last night,” I took a breath before I continued, “I thought we were—”

“There’s no time,” his voice rasped. His eyes were earnest, and he seemed preoccupied.

“I’ll... see to the horse then.” He nodded in acknowledgement as I turned to leave. When I looked over my shoulder at him from the doorway, he was still staring at me.

At the stable, I began preparations. There was a protocol to follow for guest horse boarding: they received the same care as his own horses, unless the owner instructed otherwise, but everything was separate. Copia’s horses did not share stalls, troughs or tack. The horses did not graze in the same pasture. And the amount of thorough cleaning afterwards was exhausting as Copia required all traces of the animals removed.

When the truck arrived, a woman exited the passenger side of the cab, and she introduced herself after I greeted her.

 _“Bonjour, je m'appelle Colette, et voici Fétiche d'Asmodée.”_ She gestured towards the trailer, and I followed her to the back where her driver was preparing to unload her horse, a stunning black Mérens mare.

“She’s beautiful,” I acknowledged, and I thought the same of Colette, who was a striking woman. We were similar in stature and build, but her body curved like mine never would, and her riding attire flaunted it. Her arms and legs were muscular, and a cascade of shiny black hair fell beneath her shoulders. I guessed she could be in her 40s.

She offered no information about her visit, and I thought it rude to ask. I helped her driver haul their tack and supplies into the stable as Colette settled her horse into the stall I prepared. Copia arrived before we finished.

When he greeted her, they exchanged kisses before he held her in a long embrace. His black eyelids closed, and he whispered something into her ear that made her smile before they separated. I was ashamed I felt jealous. She received more attention than I had that morning.

Copia then greeted Fétiche in the stall, spending several minutes stroking her all over while he listened to Colette. She spoke of her horse’s body: small and light, elegant, with a wide chest and strong legs.

“We will ride after lunch,” Copia said when they finished and the stall door was closed.

“I will tack your horse,” I replied.

“Ankou,” he corrected me, slightly lifting his head.

“We want to find out if they get along,” Colette added. “I haven’t been successful with this Mérens, and Master Copia suggested we try. Didn’t he tell you?”

It confused me. “Try what?”

“Breeding,” Colette answered as she looked at Copia. “We’re hoping they will take an interest in each other. I breed Mérens near Saint-Girons, but Fétiche seems to need a different stallion. Ankou’s breed doesn’t matter... I need a workhorse.” Copia’s mouth parted as she spoke.

“She’s in heat?” I asked.

“Not yet. Master Copia and I believe in pasture breeding,” Colette continued. “So if they are friendly, Fétiche may board here later this summer.” Copia nodded in approval—I knew he was vehemently against live cover mating.

I watched them walk back to the château together for lunch as he kept his hands behind his back, earnestly listening. She captivated him.

When they returned after the long meal, he only regarded me once, and I couldn’t read him. Colette laughed as they mounted up their horses and rode off together, and it was unbearable to watch.

  


* * *

  


They were away for nearly five hours, and I became weak-minded the longer I waited. I wondered where he took her and why, and my thoughts got the best of me. I ate lunch alone, exercised his horses, and scanned the horizon, troubled over the time that passed. In my darkest moment, I wondered if he took her to the guest house, and the idea made me despondent.

I had buckets of water waiting in the paddock when they finally returned, and when Copia locked eyes with me, he looked concerned.

Copia gestured towards the château, instructing Colette to go on ahead.

“You’ll catch up?” Her eyes twinkled, and he nodded. She thanked me before heading up the pathway.

After the horses finished drinking, Copia and I untacked and groomed them silently and returned them to their stalls. When he approached me in the tack room, I leaned against the worktable, facing him.

He gave me a knowing look while he took his gloves off, and then he reached behind my head with both hands to let my hair down. I closed my eyes when he put both hands to my temples and slowly ran his fingers through my tresses, loosening them. Lowering my head, I softened under his touch—the only thing I needed—as his fingers softly raked against my scalp and down my neck. Each time he lifted my hair, I felt warm and shifted closer, and soon I was against his chest. His arm went around my waist while his other hand continued the long calming strokes.

I suddenly felt foolish, being so envious of Colette. I tilted my head back to look at him, and his eyes were full of emotion beneath his heavy eyelids. I paid no attention to the bulge in his riding breeches until now.

His fingers came to rest on my waistband, and he stared at me as he unfastened my pants, pausing before slipping his hand beneath my underwear. It excited him I was already wet, and he wasted no time stripping me from the waist down, positioning me so I sat on the worktable.

He spread my knees so he could stand between them and continued to stroke my hair, caressing my cheek and lifting my chin between strokes, ensuring I wouldn’t break eye contact. I had all of his attention now, and he made sure I knew it.

He unbuttoned my shirt and touched the pendant before pulling my bra cups down, exposing my tits. As he stared at them, he continued to stroke my hair, and I basked in his gaze. His other hand went to my knee, tracing up my thigh to my hip, and over my breast to my neck before sliding back down. When I unfastened his breeches, he pressed his cock between my legs, and his hand buried deep in my hair pulled me in for a kiss.

Whenever my eyelids lowered, his hand left my hair for my chin, reminding me to focus on him. As he rubbed the head of his cock across my clit, he watched me shift and stir, and I couldn’t look away. My eyes begged for more whenever he reset my gaze, and he stroked his thumb across my lower lip, pulling it down and spreading my saliva, just as his cock spread his pre-cum all over my pussy.

Our voices stayed silent throughout our foreplay as our eyes flashed at each touch, revealing each sensation as our affection for each other continued to build. But I couldn’t stay quiet, moaning when his cock finally pressed inside.

He put his thumb over my lips to quiet me, still insisting I meet his gaze, and when I hushed, he continued to stroke my hair as his girth lodged further inside. His other thumb softly stroked my clit, and when my posture collapsed, he gently clasped my hair to keep me upright and looking at him.

My hand went to his cock to feel how much I couldn’t take, and he wrapped his fingers around mine, stroking the base of his shaft as he looked into my eyes, and he slipped inside further. My eyelids drooped as I felt my orgasm coming, and he held my chin up, forcing me to look at him as I felt the base of his cock throbbing. I flinched and then trembled as he filled me, unable to look away, my fingers still wrapped tightly around his girth, and he didn’t let go of me until we finished.

We both groaned loudly as we uncoupled, and it relieved me to vocalize our feelings again. He kept my gaze and continued to stroke my hair.

That’s when Alexandre called my name from the stable, and I realized we had become careless.

“Lock the door!” I hissed as Copia pulled up his breeches. I adjusted my bra and stepped into my pants hastily, pulling them on.

“Colette said you might need help?” Alexandre pushed on the door, but Copia had secured it, and he jiggled the handle and called my name again.

Copia and I stayed quiet and unmoving, waiting until he left.

“I’ll make up an excuse at dinner,” I said as Copia handed me his kerchief. “You should leave first.” He stroked my hair slowly, one last time, before he headed back.

  


* * *

  


When I arrived later in the dining room, Alexandre was already eating at a table closest to the kitchen, and he stood up.

“I was hoping to see you. It’s been... days?” We both laughed at losing track of the time.

“Me too,” I said as we exchanged kisses. “Save me a seat.” I headed to the dinner buffet table as he poured wine, and he pulled out my chair for me when I returned.

“I was looking for you today in the tack room, but I missed you. Colette thought you might need help with her horse.” He resumed eating once I started on my plate.

“The job went quickly,” I assured him, noticing that Franchot was still cooking furiously even though the staff meal was already out. “What’s going on with Franchot?”

“Copia’s having a private dinner.”

I felt my face drain and forced myself to smile, and at that moment a butler burst into the kitchen and asked for more champagne. Franchot instructed him which bottle to take from the chiller, and he filled an ice bucket for the bottle before the butler hurried away.

“Where?” I asked casually.

“Upstairs in his private receiving room,” Alexandre answered.

I knew where it was—down the hall from his bedroom—but I had never been inside. It was a place for quiet gatherings with important guests away from the staff.

“With Colette, I presume.” I sipped my wine.

“Yes, I hear they’re breeding soon.” Alexandre said.

“Who told you that?”

“Colette did when I saw her today.”

Another attendant burst into the room and pulled white table linens and silver out of a large cabinet in the dining room before scurrying away.

“What else did she say?”

“We were just catching up since we haven’t seen each other in years.”

“You know her?”

“Just as an acquaintance. She’s visited before.”

“How does she know Master Copia?”

“The Cadre Noir. She was one of the first women to become an instructor there.”

 _“Une écuyer?”_ I was incredulous at the level of prestige.

“Yes. They were in the corps for many years together. He mentored her.”

I took a drink of ice water to settle my insides.

“Were they also in a relationship?” I took a gulp of wine as Alexandre looked at me quizzically.

“I don’t know. I heard they were close once, but neither speaks of it.”

I kept eating as his comment rung in my ears: _they were close once._ I took another sip of ice water, wanting to change the subject.

Franchot was plating two dinners, and he covered them with silver domes before the butler carried them off. Another attendant took an expensive Bordeaux from the chiller with two crystal glasses.

“Let’s talk about you,” I said, refocusing my attention. “What have you been doing the past few days?”

“Jean-Luc assigned me to work at the _maison basque._ Copia stayed there one night with his horse.” I almost choked. “I set up the stable there and cleaned it afterwards.” He noticed my reaction. “I hope everything is OK. I’m not supposed to ask why you couldn’t do it.”

I took another sip of ice water as my brain rushed to prepare a response.

“Thank you, yes. I was... feeling ill. I assume you’re the one who brought the horses in that night.”

He nodded. “I’m glad to see you’re doing better. You should have told me.” Explaining it as an illness proved to be a mistake as he scrutinized my face. “Forgive me, but you seem pale.”

I smiled weakly as Franchot started his _crêpe_ batter. His signature _crêpes suzette_ meant it was an important occasion.

“Female problems,” I asserted, so Alexandre would quit asking about it.

“I’m sorry.” He suddenly looked uncomfortable, and I reached for his hand across the table to let him know it was fine.

“I would like to ride with you again tomorrow, if you can. Down to the cove this time.”

“I would love it.” He stroked my hand with his thumb, and we exchanged smiles.

We enjoyed more wine as we watched Franchot finish the dessert. He made orange butter while his _crêpe_ batter rested, and then he cooked the _crêpes,_ folding and arranging them in quarters with the butter in a large frypan. When he _flambéed_ them in Cognac and Grand Marnier, the flame leaped high, and he yelled for the butler to take the plates while they were still warm.

“Play cards with me,” Alexandre asked, and I agreed, following him to the salon. I needed to focus on something else and not what was happening upstairs.

We played with two other staff members, and halfway through the _Belote_ match, there was another commotion, with housekeepers bustling through the hallway.

“What is going on?” I poked my head out to ask as Alexandre refilled our beverages.

“We’re making arrangements,” one housekeeper said.

“Arrangements for what?”

“An overnight guest. I must go now, please.” I watched her hurry down the hallway and up the stairs.

When I retired to my room, I couldn’t sleep. The staff had prepared the guest quarters down the hall from Copia’s bedroom, which relieved me, but I still needed to see him.

I waited until the château was dark before I creeped upstairs. I listened outside his bedroom, and all was quiet.

“Master Copia,” I whispered as I softly tapped and opened his bedroom door. I closed it and found the sitting room empty as I walked in. His bed was untouched behind the open double doors. I felt a pang in my heart and went to his nightstand, picking up the framed photo.

I studied her face, holding the picture up to the moonlight that shone in the room. She had beautiful eyes and perfect skin, her dark hair falling around her shoulders. But it wasn’t Colette.

I set the picture down and left, careful not to make a sound. When I returned to my room, I tossed and turned in bed the rest of the night.

  


* * *

  


I cared for Colette’s horse as I did the others, but turned her out behind the second gate, maintaining separate grazing areas as I cleaned the stables.

I watched Copia’s window, but it remained dark as the sun slowly came up. As I was finishing my morning jobs, Colette’s driver pulled up with the horse trailer, and Colette and Copia came outside. They both looked well rested.

Copia and I exchanged a glance before I helped Colette’s driver load their tack and supplies. As Colette settled Fétiche onto the trailer, Copia stroked the horse’s neck to say goodbye. When the trailer door shut, I bid Colette farewell, and she thanked me for my help. Her eyes were warm and sincere.

I returned inside the stable, lingering to listen.

“I look forward to seeing you again.” It was Colette’s voice. 

There was silence then, and when I peeked from the doorway, Copia kissed her on the lips. As they parted, he handed her the envelope with the distinctive _fleur-de-lis_ wax seal.

“I’m touched. You’re so sentimental.” Colette took the envelope and put a hand to his chest.

“I wanted to tell you your stablehand looks familiar,” she continued.

I felt my hair stand on end. There was a silent moment as Copia put his hand over hers, holding it.

“I know,” his voice rasped.


	11. Minuit

  
_I am riding in the shadows behind you on a pale white horse_  


 

It took three hours to scrub all traces of Fétiche d'Asmodée from the stable according to Copia’s strict protocol. Perhaps I could have finished faster, but what I saw upset me and I felt nothing but scorn. What did Colette mean when she said I was familiar? And seeing their kiss and his enchantment when he placed the letter in her hand broke my heart. I could never compete with their history, whatever it was. I was only his stablehand—a mere convenience—and nothing more.

Physically drained, I returned to the château to shower, looking forward to my beach ride with Alexandre when I could relax. I took a lunch plate to my room to dine alone and passed Béatrice in the foyer, touching her arm to stop her when I saw her face.

“Is everything OK?” Visibly distressed, she looked up and down the halls before speaking.

“Gabrielle has fallen ill. She’s hospitalized.”

I realized then I hadn’t seen Gabrielle since the morning we had breakfast together—the day I went to the _baserri._

“What happened? Is she all right?”

“I found her unconscious on the floor. I’m not sure how long she was there. A private ambulance has taken her.”

“How frightening. Is there anything I can do?”

“Does she have any relatives nearby? She didn’t list a contact in her personnel file.”

“She told me she has a boyfriend in town, but I don’t know his name.”

“Thank you. I will ask the other stewards.” Béatrice moved to leave, and I placed my hand on her arm again.

“Will she be all right?”

She looked over both shoulders again before answering.

“I don’t know.” She shook her head before continuing. “All I know is it’s serious. I’m quite worried.”

I let her pass by.

When Alexandre came to my room an hour later, it was the first thing he asked about.

“Did you hear about Gabrielle? Do you know anything?”

He sat down on my bed as I tied my hair back, and I relayed what Béatrice had told me.

“She’s so young.” He shook his head.

Although empathetic with Gabrielle’s condition, I needed my own answers.

“Listen,” I said as I sat on my bed next to him. “You told me before you heard something about Copia’s past.” His eyes shifted away as I spoke. “I need to know.”

There was a long pause before he looked at me again, and he scrutinized my face intently.

“You need to keep your distance from him.” His voice was solemn, and his eyes flashed so severely I didn’t respond. “Are you in trouble?” His voice softened when he saw my reaction.

“No,” I said cautiously. It was the second time he had used that word.

He reached for the chain around my neck and pulled the pendant up from beneath my shirt.

“Let’s ride,” he said when it fell from his fingers.

We tacked up Laguerre and Ankou for the ride to the cove. The tide was going out, and we broke into a canter as we headed up the beach. When I turned my head to look at Alexandre, I was pleased to see his somber face had lightened. We smiled at each other. Our ride was jubilant, the horses enjoying the fresh ocean air and firm, damp sand beneath their hooves in the bright sun.

Near the end of the cove at the rocks, we slowed to a walk before Alexandre stopped and dismounted, and I followed suit. He handed me the reins and started beachcombing, and I trailed behind him, keeping the horses on a loose rein as sea birds flew overhead.

“More for your collection,” he said as he turned and opened his palm, revealing two sea marbles.

His expression changed suddenly as we looked at each other, and he seemed purposeful. My gaze shifted from his eyes to his lips that were slowly approaching as he leaned in. I let them brush mine before I turned my head away, and he enfolded me in his arms as I squeezed him back. How I wished it could be him instead of Copia, but already stricken, I felt foredoomed to another. The waves broke a few times before Alexandre spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled in my ear, still holding me. “I shouldn’t—”

“I can’t,” I admitted quietly, enjoying his warmth with my eyes closed. I wanted to tell him everything, but he could never know.

He kissed my forehead as I felt his body stiffen, and when he pulled away, I saw someone over his shoulder watching us from the distant ledge: a black figure on a white horse. I kept Alexandre’s attention and stayed calm.

“Tell me it’s not him,” Alexandre pleaded as he took his reins from my hand, unaware that Copia was watching us. “He’s dangerous.”

“What happened in his past? Please, I need to know.”

“Death,” he deadpanned. “That’s what I’ve heard.”

The ocean air dried my agape mouth as quickly as our moment vanished.

  


* * *

  


I stared at the note left on my bed: _“Minuit. C.”_

When Alexandre and I returned, Copia’s horse was in the pasture, and Béatrice informed me that Copia wouldn’t take his nightly ride. I had several hours alone to contemplate the note and what could happen when I arrived in his bedroom at midnight.

I needed to know what everything meant. Why was he watching me? How was I familiar? What happened in his past? Where was he at night? Would he ever have feelings for me the way he did for Colette? I sighed. Whenever I thought of their affair, my jealousy repulsed me.

Although nervous about his answers, I wanted to spend the night in his room. I craved his undivided attention, his touch, and his ampleness straining me to new heights. I needed more of him.

I frowned at the lingerie in my drawer, wishing I had something better he hadn’t seen, and vowing to shop in the city on my next day off. But when I looked in the mirror before I left my room, I forgot about what was beneath my robe, dismayed instead by the apprehension I wore all over my face. It remained even when I forced a smile.

The hall clock hadn’t chimed yet when I climbed the stairs, and I flinched when the latch clicked and the door slowly opened.

A single candle flickered on the console table, illuminating the entryway. Copia was barefoot and shirtless, wearing lounge pants that looked too big for him everywhere except the crotch.

He held the door handle and stared at me silently before stepping back so I could enter. When he closed the door, he leaned against it, still saying nothing. The bulge in his pants cast a shadow on the wall.

“You’re here.” I had to say something. He didn’t embrace me, which felt awkward, but the longing I missed was in his eyes.

“You wanted this.” His voice was quiet. He knew I had been in his room the previous two nights looking for him.

“Do you.” The words barely left my lips, and it didn’t come out as a question.

He didn’t answer and remained against the door, and I wanted to go to him but couldn’t. I looked away into the sitting room.

“Should I be... afraid of you.” Another utterance that didn’t sound like a question.

His eyes narrowed in amusement.

“Why were you watching me today?”

The deafening silence was unbearable.

“Have you been watching me this whole time?” The frustration seeped into my voice.

“Yes,” he finally answered calmly. I could hear my pulse as he continued. “For nine years.”

Flabbergasted, I said nothing as he finally stepped towards me. He placed a single finger to my sternum, running it down between the folds of my robe until he reached the pendant. His circles were gray tonight, and when they crinkled they betrayed his arousal.

He pushed my robe off my shoulders with his other hand and planted a kiss above the pendant. His hair smelled woodsy, and when he turned his head, our eyes sparked in the mirror above the console table. I enjoyed seeing him there.

When he straightened, he took hold of my hand and led me to his bed. Another candle flickered on the nightstand in place of the framed photo, and a silver gift box sat in the mattress's center, topped with a bow. I noticed the curtains drawn shut as he closed the doors to the sitting area. It was private.

He guided me to sit on the edge of the bed with him. As I turned towards the box, his chin went to my shoulder and he wrapped an arm around my waist.

“We’re bonded,” he whispered, before he took the strap of my chemise between his teeth and pulled it aside. His fingers pulled my other strap down, and the chemise fell from my breasts, but he didn’t touch them.

He reached for the box so I could open it, and when I pulled the ribbon, I felt his warm breath at my neck. He collected my tresses in his hand and lifted my hair up, and his lips were at my hairline when I lifted the lid and spread the tissue paper.

I was tongue-tied when I lifted it out. The leather headpiece had blinkers and pony ears.

“There’s no room for jealousy,” he rasped, as he took it from my hands and gently placed it over my head. He fastened two small buckles in the back, and then he turned my head to kiss me before he buckled the thin strap under my chin. When he finished, a strap covered my upper lip, simulating a gag bit, and the blinkers restricted my peripheral vision. I was uneasy yet aroused when he disappeared from my view and pulled my chemise and hanging robe off my body. I hadn’t worn underwear.

I felt the straps with my hands, and it was smooth saddlery leather. I wondered suddenly if Thierry made it for him, and I didn’t want to think about it.

His hands softly clasped my wrists and pulled them away from my face, and he silently guided me to the center of the bed so I was kneeling facing the headboard. I heard his pants come off and felt the pressure on the mattress as he kneeled behind me.

Turning my head, I still couldn’t see him with the blinkers, and he put his hands to my jaw and turned me forward again. He traced his finger over the gag strap before sliding it into my mouth, and my pussy ran hot as he slipped his hands up over my pony ears, which stood straight up. His cock lay firm against my ass.

He slipped his hands back down over my neck, caressing my breasts first, and then my back. I leaned into him, but instead he gently pushed me down onto all fours.

I gasped when he moved and I felt his breath between my legs. His tongue ran across my pussy, starting my lubrication before his mustache slipped between my lips. His hands pushed so hard on my inner thighs, I adjusted my knees to give him more room.

He nuzzled my clit with his mustache as his tongue explored me, and I grabbed his pillow and clutched it as my rear lifted higher, giving him everything he wanted.

I felt his sideburns brush my thighs as he rolled onto his back and pulled me down onto his face. He used his mustache to separate my lips again, and I moaned at the thorough licking when I heard his muffled growls.

Next, his mustache rubbed over and between my inner labia as his hands went to my breasts. I jolted when it first tickled, but as I became wetter and wetter, I writhed over his lip and tongue, jolting again when I felt the prickliness of his whiskers before my wetness slicked them down.

I wanted to come, but he changed the pace, inserting two fingers, and I jerked back up onto my palms. I heard his labored breathing when he surfaced and his lips made a noisy smacking sound.

His legs pushed him forward, and it surprised me when I saw his face beneath mine. He lifted his head and kissed me below the gag strap as his fingers curled, and then he disappeared, sliding out entirely from beneath me.

I raised myself to my knees in anticipation as I thought of what was to come, wanting to turn around.

“You know the Cadre Noir saying,” he rasped, and I felt droplets from his mouth spray across my backside as he spoke.

“Fuck me,” I whispered over my shoulder, craning my neck but unable to see him. “Please.” I quivered at the thought of him filling me. All I could smell was the leather mixed with my scent and a hint of Cognac.

 _“Calme,”_ he demanded, holding my hips. I didn’t understand at first, but when he repeated the word, I realized what he was reciting and held still.

 _“En avant,”_ he rasped, and I obediently leaned forward on my palms again. When he grunted, I knew my obedience pleased him.

 _“Droit,”_ was the last command, and I tried my best to straighten myself in my condition. It wasn’t good enough as his hands lifted my pelvis first and then my shoulders. When his cock slid between my lips, he muttered _parfait_ under his breath before he entered me.

It hurt when I stretched so suddenly, and my posture buckled.

 _“Droit,”_ he repeated, waiting for me to compose myself, but I simply couldn’t. His legs squeezed mine as his fingernails dug sharply into my flesh, and I wailed before fully straightening my back. He rewarded me with four slow and deep thrusts, further than I had taken him before, and my pussy instantly burned. I struggled to take his thickness this time, and I trembled.

He paused and put his hands to my shoulders before sliding them down my back. _“Calme,"_ he repeated, waiting for me to settle, and I obeyed him.

He stopped speaking after that and settled on an easy gait that placated me. I held my posture for each thrust until he put two fingers to my clit, and then I pushed back onto him as I collapsed and yelped into his pillow. I had nothing left I could give him, and he seemed pleased as his legs released their tight grip on mine, and then I heard the gutturals for just a moment before he burst.

When we finished, he helped me kneel again, facing him, and he stroked my leather ears one last time before his hands went behind my head and below my chin to unbuckle the headpiece. When it was off, he kissed me deeply, and I could see how much I meant to him.

As we lay down together, he pulled the sheet over my shoulders and swathed me in his arms until I fell sound asleep. My questions would need to wait until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to see a photo of the headpiece, it's on my Tumblr blog [@fellowwriter](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fellowwriter).  
> If you enjoyed this and plan to reread this chapter, may I also [suggest a song](https://open.spotify.com/track/5yd6GNZoU1Puh2rjubhC7p?si=ndBLUX0vS5ipKrrxb1R5HQ) to set the mood.


	12. La Pyrénéenne

  
_You would never want me to appear_  


 

I squinted over my shoulder when I awoke and felt his warmth against my backside. His elbow propped him up, head against his palm, observing me. The arm draped over my waist gave me a gentle squeeze, and it meant everything he was still there.

Copia lifted my hair to kiss my ear, and I turned back for more, scooting closer and then rolling to face him. When he lifted his head after our chaste kiss, I saw how sleep mussed his hair, and he seemed content. It was in his face and in his eyes as we looked at each other. His forehead lines weren’t as deep.

He put his head to my pillow, simply staring. I couldn’t see his white eye, which made him look more ordinary.

“You’re watching me sleep too?” I said it softly and regretted the words. He reached up to brush my hair from my face before pulling the sheet over my shoulders, and then his hand went to my hip.

My eyes closed again, and then I remembered.

“The horses,” I whispered, lifting my head and looking for a clock that wasn’t in his bedroom.

“It’s arranged.” He stroked my cheek with the back of his fingers until I was back on the pillow. Under the sheet, his other hand held mine. I wasn’t going anywhere.

“I need to—”

His finger lightly crossed my lips, but I continued when he lifted it.

“Alexandre can’t know.”

Copia said nothing and squeezed my hand. Alexandre’s words echoed in my head: _Keep your distance from him._ I didn’t want him to know I didn’t listen.

I drifted back asleep, and when I awoke the second time, Copia hadn’t moved, and I saw a faint hint of light outlining the curtains. It was still early. I gave him a peck before excusing myself to freshen up, finding my robe draped over the bench at the foot of the bed. His eyes followed me until I closed his bathroom door.

When I returned, he was still naked, carrying a tray to the bed. He had arranged the pillows for reclining and waited for me to get back in. He placed the tray legs over my lap and pressed down the piston of _la cafetière_ before taking his place next to me, pulling the sheet up to his waist as if he had modesty.

While the coffee steeped, Copia reached for a small stack of correspondence from the corner of the tray, lifting his reading glasses that were weighing them down and putting them on with one hand.

“Business,” he said apologetically, as he looked at me over the top of the small half frames resting low on his nose. I nodded and didn’t peer over his shoulder as he opened an envelope and read a private letter. He folded it up and set it aside.

He handed me the second note after he glanced at it: Thierry finished his saddle, and Béatrice requested an appointment for its delivery.

“I’ll take care of it,” I volunteered, and he grunted his agreement.

He then handed me the next item to read: a folded invitation from the Cadre Noir. Its worn corners suggested someone had previously opened it.

“You’re attending a gala?” It was a week away at the Grand Manège in Saumur.

He was silent as he poured warm milk and coffee into my cup simultaneously before pouring only coffee into his. He knew my morning beverage.

“With you.” He put his hand over mine, lifting it to kiss my knuckles. 

I wasn’t sure I understood correctly.

“You’re taking a horse I need to care for?” 

When he shook his head, my mind buzzed loudly.

“Thank you,” was all I could say. I hadn’t visited Saumur in years and attending a gala with Copia would be a night I would never forget. “I have nothing to wear,” I blurted out.

“Come to the city today,” he rasped. He reached for his cup and flicked his tongue into the liquid to check the temperature. “Max will take you shopping while I attend to a business matter.”

He took a long drink as I nodded, still stunned this was happening.

He put his cup down to read the last folded note in his lap. I watched his face fall before he looked away, and I put my hand on his shoulder until he faced forward again.

“Gabrielle died.” He looked straight ahead, and it reminded me of the night he stood in front of the fireplace.

Shocked, it took a moment for me to respond.

“That’s terrible news. I’m sorry.”

We finished our coffee in silence as I wondered what happened to her. He volunteered no additional information.

When I set my cup down, he announced that we would leave at _huit heures._ I needed to hurry.

  


* * *

  


The Phantom backseat was slippery from recent leather conditioning, leaving a faint and pleasurable scent. Copia lifted the center console between our seats, folding it away so it disappeared and sliding over until his hips touched mine. He had put on a black, slim-fit suit for the trip, and his jacket was hanging in the front passenger seat to prevent wrinkles.

When Max closed my door, Copia gave me an open-mouthed kiss, breaking away when Max took his position behind the wheel. I wore a print scarf tied around my neck, and Copia loosened it with both hands, grunting his approval when he saw my pendant. He kept his arm around my shoulders when Max asked if we were ready, nodding in the rearview mirror.

“You’re cold,” Copia observed, as he rubbed my upper arm. He reached for my heated-seat button as we started down the winding driveway.

Lifting the hem of my long tank dress, he slid his warm palm up my leg until it was just above my knee. There was ample room for him to cross his legs and be comfortable. We were in for a long ride.

Max wore sunglasses, and I couldn’t tell if he watched us in the mirror. But when I glanced out my tinted window to the pasture, I saw Alexandre looking down at the Phantom, watching us disappear beneath the tree canopy. Copia noticed and stroked my thigh in reassurance.

After we drove through the village and turned onto _La Pyrénéenne,_ Max turned on music at a low volume, and I recognized Jacques Brel. Copia relaxed as we listened to _la chanson française,_ and I felt his hold on me loosen as his buckled dress shoe bobbed lazily up and down to the beat.

He admired me instead of the scenery, and I closed my eyes whenever I felt his breath at my jawline. He nuzzled me between songs, and my hand squeezed his thigh. It was a three-hour ride to Toulouse, _la Ville Rose,_ and we had plenty of space.

“Max,” I whispered in Copia’s ear, and he ignored it, sliding his hand up under my dress so his fingers reached my panties. His index finger grazed the front of my underwear before he drew his hand back and pressed the power leg-rest button for my seat.

“Mhm,” Copia mumbled as my lower legs elevated and knees fell slightly apart, and his hand slid up to my panties again. I leaned slightly into his body, resting my head on his shoulder, and felt warm everywhere, unable to tell how much heat he caused versus the seat.

Each time his lips touched my skin they lingered longer and moved closer to mine, and when he finally caught the corner of my mouth, we erupted into a passionate but silent kiss.

“Max,” I whispered again when we paused to breathe.

Copia shook his head at me after eyeing the rearview mirror. Max appeared to be focused on the road, but I couldn’t be sure.

Copia’s index finger slipped under my panties at my leg, and I bit my lower lip as he ran it lightly across my slit, pausing when he felt how wet I had become. He kept my gaze as his finger probed deeper to its middle joint before he removed it, and I watched helplessly as he held it up and pushed it between his lips. His black eyelids closed as he sucked it clean.

He took his time before repeating the movement, leaving me wanting. My rear felt warm as I slid forward just enough to give him more space, and when his finger returned, he gathered more of me on his fingertip before bringing it to his mouth, tracing it over his lips before his tongue licked everything away.

Two fingers sunk between my lips the next time, and he spread them before he stroked upwards, teasing my clit, before once again bringing them to his mouth. He separated them, breaking the glistening threads with his tongue before sucking them one a time, and when my mouth parted as I turned into him, he shared the taste with me.

I moaned quietly when he pulled my underwear off before burying his fingers again, this time stroking my clit. He raised his nose at the sound, his eyes warning me to stay quiet, before his mouth went to my neck. I put my hand over his bulge and gasped into his sideburns, and he didn’t like the noise, stopping and pinning my body flat against the length of the seat in a hurried tussle. It exhilarated me when my head hit the leather.

“Mhm,” he warned, placing his finger over my lips. I barely heard it over the music. The front seats were so high that Max was out of view, but on my back with my knees spread and bent, I felt the car’s every movement.

Copia loomed over me, kneeling between my legs, as he reached for more controls. The cabin darkened, and he turned off the heat in favor of a massage, the seat vibrating softly beneath us.

He pushed my dress up further until my ass was against the leather before he unzipped his trousers, and when he leaned forward, his tongue abruptly filled my mouth as his cock filled my pussy.

I groaned against his tongue at his girth, feeling crushed under his body weight as he pressed inside. He held my knees up with his shoulders, and when the car turned he used his legs to thrust deeper, causing me to whimper.

He stopped and lifted himself onto one hand, pulling the ends of my scarf with the other. He held them like reins, wanting me to yield to him, his eyes ordering me to be quiet. But instead I yielded to my own pleasure and moaned as Max took another curve.

I emitted a soft high-pitched squeal as he pulled one end of the scarf tight, until I had no breath left. His eyes briefly worried until he saw mine roll back with pleasure, and then he growled into my ear as he pounded his cock into my pussy.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t moan. I couldn’t breathe. I felt lightheaded as his cock repeatedly filled me, and Copia’s eyes were dark as he lifted his head to watch my throat and my pussy both suffocate under him.

He dropped the scarf and put a finger over my lips to feel my breath, and there was none, which alarmed him. He put three fingers under the fabric, pulling to loosen it, and the sound of my gasp relieved him this time.

I was looking into his eyes as I came, and he firmly put his hand over my mouth to muffle my pleasure as he tried and failed to hold back his own gutturals. He groaned when he came inside me, and his dark eyes turned emotional as he kept my mouth covered while I shivered through his pulses, unable to breathe again. When he finished, his lips landed where his fingers had been, and he stroked the red mark on my neck tenderly above the pendant. His fleeting aggression was gone.

“Have I hurt you,” he whispered, scanning my face carefully.

“No,” I assured him, and he dropped his forehead to my bosom in relief. “You couldn’t hurt me,” I said softly, running my fingers over his hair.

When he raised his head as he pulled out, straight-faced, I barely heard his words.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of.”


	13. L'Canne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Copia is hurt. It's not gory, and I don't describe the violence. I promise you he will recover.

  
_You never want this to be over_  


 

“Any word?”

Béatrice looked up from her paperwork and shook her head.

“Thanks,” I muttered as I left her office. It had been three days since I left Toulouse without Copia, and no one had heard from him.

After Max loaded my shopping and garment bags into the trunk, and I slid into the empty backseat, he addressed me in the rearview mirror from behind his sunglasses.

“He’s not coming,” was all he said as he shifted into gear and pulled away from the curb, indicating the conversation was over. When the sun dipped lower on the horizon on the long drive back, unease and loneliness overcame me, and I stroked my thumb over my pendant. Max didn’t say another word, and after he helped unload my bags at the château, he drove away—no one knew where.

I kept my nerves at bay by immersing myself in work, becoming vigilant about the horses’ care. Alexandre didn’t complain or even mention covering for me on my second day away from the stable, but I felt tension in his reserved greetings and goodbyes, and we hadn’t dined together or gone on another ride.

I had a welcome distraction however in my friend Cat, who had just returned as Franchot’s summer apprentice in the kitchen. I met her outside on the dining veranda for a short break after leaving Béatrice’s office.

“What’s the real reason you’re here?” I asked as she lit a cigarette. “Last I heard you were still at the restaurant.” I admired how she tied her bandanna, covering her hair that was pulled back into a long braid.

“Copia asked for me.” She turned her head to exhale before she joined me on the bench, holding her cigarette to the side. “And when I arrive he’s not even here.” She looked me in the eye before she took another drag, and I wondered what she knew.

“Is Franchot that busy?”

“He makes mistakes,” Cat answered. “There was a recent... guest dinner, I think? I got the call after that.” She blew her smoke away from me again. “I wanted to say no, but the money was too good. I had to take it.”

“I missed you the past few months.” Cat had lived and worked at the château most of the winter before taking the restaurant job.

“Me too.” She offered her cigarette, but I shook my head at it. “You still need to live a little,” she scoffed. “Want to come to a party tonight in town?”

“Thanks Cat, but I can’t. My jobs start too early.”

“I’m leaving after the dinner service if you change your mind.” She extinguished the butt in the ashtray she brought outside before we stood up. When we were back inside, I waved at Franchot as she tied an apron around her waist, and both called out their goodbyes as I headed back to the stable.

That afternoon I exercised each horse one at a time on a lunge line, walking, trotting and cantering for several minutes in both directions. Bascule resisted me, as expected, but still completed the routine. To cool them down, I walked each horse on foot for several minutes before fetching fresh water and brushing them out.

During Laguerre’s turnout in the pasture, I heard a vehicle approaching. Quickly, I secured the gate and ran to the far side of the board fence to see the Phantom winding up the driveway, and my heart pounded.

Copia’s horse was the last one I needed to groom, and I secured her in the stable before I ran to the château. I needed to see him.

I kept my distance until the car stopped, and there was a long pause before Max emerged from the driver’s seat, opening the rear passenger door. I saw buckled shoes land on the cobblestones, and Max leaned down to extend his arm into the car.

Copia was wearing the same black suit when he appeared, the jacket draped over his arm. He grimaced when he stepped forward, jostling a black cane so Max could close the door behind him. He turned his head when I approached, but it was too late. I had seen it.

“What happened to you?” I reached for his face, and he recoiled at my touch, but let me slowly turn his head forward. Dried, bloodied scratches marked his left temple, running down in long lines that disappeared into his sideburns. His eyes were empty when he looked at me, and he averted my gaze when I looked down at his body.

He was standing crooked with most of his weight on one foot, using the cane for balance.

“What happened?” I asked again, and he didn’t answer, grunting and flinching instead when I put my arms around him. “Sorry!” I exclaimed. “You’re in pain. Let’s get you inside.” I took his jacket from him and moved to the side to hold his arm, ambling with him up the path to the door as Max moved the car.

He hobbled with the cane, albeit still gracefully. The two front steps were the hardest, and when we entered the foyer, he turned immediately for the library. Béatrice watched us from the hallway, and when Copia was inside, I shut the doors and helped him onto the leather sofa, hanging his jacket over his desk chair.

I dragged an ottoman in front of him, carefully raising his lame leg.

“Twisted ankle?” I asked as I felt the swelling, and he grunted, still not looking directly at me, but wincing when I pulled off his shoe. I sat next to him on the sofa. “When did this happen?”

He said nothing, staring off towards the window.

“Where have you been?” I waited as long as I could for him to answer, but something distracted him.

Reaching for the cane across his lap, I rolled it lightly up his thighs, hesitating before I took its snake handle. When I stroked the cane upward against his crotch, his head turned slightly toward me. I had his attention. I reached for his cheek, but he caught my wrist and lowered my hand to his lap. His thigh felt tight, and when he let my hand wander up over his abdomen, I sensed his nervous apprehension and wondered again what happened to him.

I sat with him in silence, hoping my presence comforted him. I moved my hand over him slowly, watching his face for pain—or solace—but receiving only a vacuous stare out the window.

I softly pressed my hand to the bulge in his pants, holding it there, and as he became half-hard, he rolled his head back against the sofa.

“Let me,” I murmured, stroking him through his pants before getting up to kneel between his legs.

He finally met my gaze, slipping his fingers down my chin and neck to my pendant as I unfastened his pants. Still wary of where I touched him, I could see distress in the corners of his eyes, but he closed them when I took and held his cock in my mouth.

Carefully, I placed my hands to his stiff hips, and he let out a sigh when he felt the back of my throat. I kept still after my nose touched his bare skin, slackening my jaw and listening for his breathing over my own.

I slid my tongue across his girth and received a faint moan as his hand went to the side of my head, softly cupping my ear. I pulled back just slightly to watch the relief in his face slowly turn to pleasure as I ran my tongue over his cock gently, again and again.

His mouth opened as he lost himself, and I let him spend time in that space, letting each affectionate lick put more distance between us and his recent harm. As we reconnected, I grazed my thumbs over his hip bones, and he reciprocated with a caress behind my ear.

After much coaxing, his familiar gutturals returned, and when I pulled back and then lowered my head, his mouth snapped closed as he gritted his teeth. I held his hips firmly and swallowed it all.

I leaned forward to lay my head on his chest. I could hear and feel his heartbeat, barely waning, and he put one arm around my shoulders, lowering his chin to the top of my head.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

He didn’t answer, and I slowly tipped my head to look up at him.

“I need to go back to the stable. I assume you’re not riding tonight.”

He shook his head no but looked like he wanted to speak, so I waited.

“The horses... are all right.”

“Fine.” I smiled at him and stood up as he fastened his trousers, and he reached for my wrist.

“You...” His concern was genuine, but he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I’m fine.” I took his hand. “I’d like to see you tonight if you’d like company.”

I didn’t hear his answer as a sharp knock interrupted us. When I moved to the door and opened it, Béatrice was waiting with an ice pack and first aid kit.

“I thought you might need these,” she said apologetically when I stepped aside to let her in.

Copia glanced at me before letting Béatrice attend to him, and I closed the door quietly before returning to the stable.

  


* * *

  


“Come on,” Cat insisted. “Live a little and come to this party.” She was standing in my room trying to convince me one last time.

“I need to stay in, Cat.” She glanced at the stack of equitation books on my desk and sighed. “Suit yourself. Next time then.” After a quick hug and kiss, I watched her disappear down the corridor before I closed my door.

I had been waiting for the château to quiet down before I saw Copia again. One by one, the staff retired to their rooms or to the salon for cards, and with Cat gone, my path upstairs would be clear.

I put on new lingerie I purchased in Toulouse and looked in the mirror. It was Lise Charmel, known for its silk handmade in Lyon, and it cost a small fortune. I had several pieces—some of them transparent and not silk at all—and the ones I wore tonight were the most conservative of the lot. Truthfully, I didn’t know how hurt Copia was and if he even wanted me tonight, but I couldn’t stop thinking about our last time in the car. At the least, I reasoned, I could provide a welcome distraction.

I tied a dressing gown around my waist before venturing into the hallway. As I neared the banister post, I cringed when Béatrice greeted me. I hadn’t seen her approach in the darkness.

“Oh good, you got my note,” she whispered. “He’s been asking for you.” My heart pounded again.

“How badly is he hurt?” I went along with the inadvertent ruse, holding my dressing gown tight.

“He has bruising on his back that he wouldn’t let me see, but I cleaned the cuts on his face and chest. His ankle appears to be sprained.”

“Cuts on his chest?” I hadn’t seen them.

“Scratches, really. They will heal.”

“Ah, thank you. Good night.” I turned to head up the stairs.

“Where are you going? He’s waiting for you in the library.”

“Right!” I smiled and stepped back, turning towards the foyer. “Good night, Béatrice.”

“Good night.”

I crossed the foyer and waited until she was out of sight before opening the library doors.

Copia’s desk lamp glowed in the darkness, and I found him fast asleep on the sofa. I shut the doors and pulled the ottoman over to sit with him. As I looked down at his face, I wished we were upstairs so I could wash the smeared makeup from his blackened eyes.

He breathed softly with his mouth open, his body occasionally twitching. I wondered what he was dreaming about, but I was glad he could sleep so soundly after what he experienced, whatever it was.

A blanket covered the lower half of his body to his waist, and he wore his smoking jacket, which now gaped open at his chest. The scratches looked painful—deeper than the ones on his face, and I shivered when I wondered who or what made them.

I thought about what he asked earlier. It seemed he wanted to know if someone had harmed me or the horses. While the château was an odd place, I never felt frightened here, and I wondered if I should be. I pulled his jacket closed, lingering to feel his chest rise with each breath. I could never be afraid of him, but it was clear something else was at play. I couldn’t imagine who wanted to hurt him in this way.

An assortment of half-consumed beverages was on the coffee table: cold tea, water with no ice remaining, and an unfinished glass of Cognac. I picked up the snifter and sipped his Cognac as I watched over him, staying an entire hour. When he didn’t awaken, I refilled the snifter and pulled the blanket over his chest before retiring again to my room.

  


* * *

  


I felt the sharpness in my back, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t escape. I needed to run, but there was nowhere to go.

“Don’t,” I pleaded. “Please, how could you do this?” I couldn’t see in the darkness, but I felt the evil presence as if I was suffocating.

I rolled over violently, and that’s when the hands landed on my shoulders, silently shaking me, then shaking me harder.

When I awoke from my sleep paralysis, Copia sat on the edge of the bed, his hands on my upper arms, rubbing them. I was cold. I realized we were in my room and the coverlet was off my bed.

“What happened?” I didn’t remember going to bed with him, and then I realized I fell asleep in my lingerie. I reached to put my arms around his back, recoiling when he groaned in pain. “Oh!”

“Bruises,” he rasped. I stayed quiet for a moment trying to process what happened—both in my room and my nightmare. I noticed the mini lamp on my nightstand was on and my window was closed.

“How long have you been here?”

“Minutes. All of them trying to wake you.”

“There was something sharp.”

He held up his cane. “I couldn’t reach you at first.”

I scratched my head and noticed he was staring at my lingerie.

“Toulouse,” I whispered, and he nodded his approval, sliding his fingers up to the straps. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted—”

“I want,” he rasped.

A light shone in his eyes as he leaned on the cane to reposition himself, climbing into my bed and between my legs, kneeling as I leaned back against my pillow. 

He wielded the sharp tip of the cane skillfully, scraping my skin to lift my pendant and move it aside. A wave of goosebumps washed over me as he slid its shaft between my breasts, bringing the tip dangerously close to my chin. When I turned my head, and the tip brushed past my ear, I felt the curve of its snake head handle pressed firmly against my pussy.

He pushed my thong aside with the handle, teasing the end of the metal between my lips and over my clit, everything becoming shiny as the tip danced precariously close to my face. Still anxious from both his absence and my dream, I became overwrought under his hand—under his cane.

Copia lifted the tip to my shoulder and pushed my bra strap down, repeating the motion on the other side. With a twirl, he used the warm, wet handle to slide the half cups down, leaving my pointed nipples glistening, before hooking the handle over the center gore and pulling until he snapped it from my body.

He traced the tip down between my breasts before leaning forward and laying the cane across my neck, pressing gently. My hands went to the shaft next to his, reflexively pushing back as my head sank deeper into my pillow.

My heart pounded again as my windpipe narrowed, and the outline of his face became fuzzy as he removed one hand from the cane, his fingers pulling my thong down my legs. When I reached for the belt of his smoking jacket, he pressed harder, and I had no choice but to put my hands back on the cane’s shaft.

I moaned under the cane as his free hand circled my pussy. His dark eyes darted across my face attentively, observing every response to where he touched me, and when his fingers slipped inside, his mouth opened and his blackened lids closed.

In a flash, the cane was under my knees, pressing them upwards to my shoulders. As his arm straightened to hold me in place, I felt his jacket brush against my ass when it opened, his heavy cock landing between my lips. Our eyes locked as he stroked it against me, spreading my lips wider as he slid back and forth. His breath was heavy now, matching mine as I regained my senses, and he groaned when he entered me.

Pinned with my ass in the air, I was helpless at that angle, knowing I couldn’t last against his barrage of thrusts. I whimpered at each one, startled when he slipped the cane from behind my knees and leaned forward, placing it between my teeth with both hands.

My hands clamped over his as the cane muffled my sounds, and his face loomed over mine, watching me gasp over its shaft as he hammered my pussy slowly, my legs restless under his steady and determined pace.

He lifted his head when I came and stilled, watching my teeth clamp down on the cane as he felt the tremor in my hips. He waited for my eyes to open before lifting the cane away, and then he groaned over my tightness as he buried his cock, stuttering and growling as his head dropped above my shoulder.

The soft moan after his convulsions sounded mournful in my ear, and he didn’t move right away. I placed my hands over his shoulders, careful to avoid his back.

When he lifted his head, I couldn’t read him entirely, his face conveying an uncomfortable mixture of comfort, sadness and guilt. I took his sideburns in my hands and kissed him for the first time since he returned, careful to avoid his scratches. I had never seen him this vulnerable, and when our kiss broke, he looked pained. 

“I can’t tell you everything,” he rasped. “But... there are things you should know.”


	14. Flower of the Sun

  
_Someone's flesh is rotting tonight_  


 

As I organized the tack for the day, I already felt warm. Copia had asked to ride to the ocean where we could talk, and while I didn’t think he had recovered enough from his injuries, the cool breeze sounded appealing the moment the sun came up. Thierry was also coming by later to deliver the saddle despite my protests. I asked Copia to rest and elevate his ankle, but his emotive reaction was to tap his cane on the floor and insist upon seeing and riding his horses.

After I helped him upstairs to his room in the middle of the night, he refused my offer to stay, asking to be alone. When I walked to the stable for my morning jobs, I looked up at his window to find it dark. I hoped he could rest and put his troubles aside.

Cat and I picked baby carrots after the lunch service as a treat for the horses. A small garden strip ran alongside the stable, and Alexandre and I prepped and aerated the soil in the spring, planting seeds that grew quickly in the full sun. Cat and I filled a small pail as I listened to her gossip about her party the night before, and then she volunteered to wash the carrots in the kitchen so I could make space for the new saddle and clean and fill the water troughs.

It was odd seeing the two of them together as I finished coiling the water hose. Cat in her bandanna and chef coat, holding a pail in one hand and Copia’s arm in the other as they meandered down the path. I shook my head. I asked Alexandre to give him a ride to the stable, but I assumed Copia’s newfound stubbornness was to blame.

“Master Copia,” I greeted him outside when he arrived, and he nodded in return.

“Thank you, Catherine,” he rasped, and Cat planted kisses to each side of his mustache before handing me the pail. There was an apple on top of the washed carrots.

“He’s refused all meals since he returned, and I thought maybe he’d be hungry,” she explained, as if he was not there at all.

I glanced at Copia and he said nothing, looking impatiently at us with his mouth slightly open.

“Thanks, Cat.” I nodded for her to go, holding my arm out for Copia and escorting him to the shady area next to the paddock. I had set out a wooden chair for him, and when he sat down, I propped his foot on an overturned water bucket. His ankle was still too swollen for riding boots, and he had on casual shoes with the laces removed.

He softly touched the cane to my hip.

“I’m getting her,” I reassured him. I set the pail of carrots down inside the stable and grabbed his horse’s halter and lead rope.

He watched me enter the pasture to halter her, and when she saw him on the walk back, I detected her excitement. She’d been anxious over his long absence.

Copia stood up carefully without the cane, taking his gloves off before holding his hand out for the rope. She was slow and cautious as we approached, sensing something hurt him. Lowering her head down, she sniffed his scratches as he took the rope, wrapping his arms around her. She whinnied softly as he nuzzled her, rubbing his hands over her head and neck, and combing his bare fingers through her mane. He lifted his head so she could nuzzle his neck folds, and after she nickered, he stood at her side quietly, mumbling into her ear.

“May I tack her for you, Master Copia?”

He didn’t hear me right away, his hands and attention still focused on his horse. When I asked a second time, he turned and nodded eagerly, handing me the rope. I put her on the cross-ties and tacked her up while he waited outside.

“Do you want to use the mounting block?” I asked, and he shook his head. I didn’t understand how he would mount her, but when his horse approached him, she bowed and then lay down. There was no signal or command.

I stood next to Copia, and he put his hands on my shoulders for balance as he swung his bad ankle over her, sinking into the saddle. I handed him the reins, and his horse slowly stood up. After his feet slipped into the stirrups, he grunted when I handed him his cane.

As they took a walk around the paddock, I haltered and tacked up Laguerre. I put water bottles, carrots and the apple into my cantle bag along with lead ropes. I felt nervous now that Copia planned to tell me something, and I was glad to have the trail ride to work up my courage to listen. It couldn’t be good news.

It was an easy ride, and we let the horses trot most of the way. Copia’s demeanor changed in the saddle, and he seemed more like his usual self until we slowed down, approaching the ledge above my favorite beach cove.

Trees were on the north end, and Copia signaled he wanted to stop there. I dismounted near them first to tie up Laguerre. Copia removed his feet from the stirrups as his horse bowed and lay down, and he reached for my hand to dismount, using the cane in the other. I tied her up before retrieving the carrots, handing them to Copia to feed both horses.

“You watched me from this ledge,” I murmured, trying to break the awkward silence.

“I also watched over her,” he voiced when his hands were empty, taking the cane from under his arm. “I thought it best to show you.”

He reached for my hand and led me towards a clearing in the underbrush on the south side of the trees. Using the cane to push the greenery of the wildflowers aside, I saw the flat headstone with the _fleur-de-lis_ symbol on it. He didn’t speak for a while, looking off into the distance at the ocean.

“Her ashes are out there,” he said quietly as his eyes filled with tears.

I never knew there was a Madame Copia. I squeezed his hand, noticing the date on the stone. Today was the 20th anniversary of her death.

“She’s the picture on your nightstand,” I breathed, and he nodded without looking at me. “I’m sorry.”

He stayed silent, blinking back his tears.

“I could have saved her.” The words hung in the air ominously, and I heard Alexandre’s voice in my head telling me death was in Copia’s past. “But I didn’t know how.”

A tear escaped his blackened eyes, and I softly lifted it away with my fingertip.

“Would you like me to clear these?” I kneeled down in front of the headstone, lifting the greenery of the stemless wildflowers, and he put the cane to my wrist.

“The _eguzkilore_ protect from evil spirits. They are the flower of the sun.”

I pulled my hand back as I realized these were the same flowers—the same silver thistles—that hung on the door of the _baserri,_ a Basque folk tradition.

“How did you meet your wife,” I asked softly, sitting back on my heels.

“She attended a gala at the Cadre Noir. We married there.” When he kneeled next to me, his wet eyes met mine, and I saw how painful our trip to Saumur might be.

“We don’t need to attend the gala,” I whispered.

“I must. I have not been myself.” He looked away at the ocean.

“How did you become injured?” I had many more questions, but that one worried me the most.

His silence returned, and I studied the Italian name on the headstone, wondering about her and what she was like. I didn’t have all the answers yet, but this was a big step for him to take.

I stood up first and took his hand, and he didn’t speak for the remainder of the ride.

  


* * *

  


Thierry pulled up in his truck as I finished grooming the two horses. Copia roused from the wooden chair and waved his cane, excited to ride Bascule again.

“Help me turn them out, Thierry, before we get Bascule.” He took Laguerre’s lead rope and followed me to the pasture. After I closed the gate, I removed both horses’ halters, setting Copia’s white horse loose first. Thierry stood back as I coaxed Bascule to us, and when I had her halter on, he approached and petted her.

“Should he be doing this?” Thierry asked about Copia. “It’s not my business, but he appears hurt, and she bucked last time.” He patted Bascule on the neck several times as he spoke.

“Minor injuries,” I replied, not sure why I felt the need to come to Copia’s defense. “He’ll use a mounting block, but he’s fine in the saddle.” I hoped I was right.

Copia hovered over us as we wheeled the finished saddle into the stable, and I tacked Bascule. I stood back when finished, and Copia approached, nuzzling his horse and petting her, running his fingers over her and the finished leather. Thierry checked the fit of the saddle before he led Bascule outside, and I escorted Copia to the mounting block between the stable and the paddock, helping him slowly up the steps.

I held onto him as he put his leg out and landed in the seat with a thud. Bascule nickered and lifted her front legs as Copia leaned forward and grabbed the reins, bringing her back down. I jumped from the block to check his stirrups, making sure his feet were secure. He looked down at me and nodded before heading to the dressage arena.

I hadn’t realized it, but someone set two ascending oxers in the arena for jumps.

“Did you ask Alexandre to do this?” I asked when I ran and caught up to him, and he stared at me blankly before turning and beginning circles to warm up. I was furious. He wasn’t wearing proper boots or a helmet, and I hadn’t shortened his stirrup leathers for jumping. I pulled back to stand with Thierry at the fence.

The circles were flawless at different speeds, and I temporarily forgot his injuries when his legs took powerful command.

I saw his weight shift as he cantered around the arena in two-point, testing if his lower legs could absorb the bouncing movement of the jumping position. His bulging thighs bore his weight, and I worried when I saw him fatigue, but he tried it again as Bascule quickened her pace, heading for the first oxer.

He kept his head up, looking toward his landing with his chest open and shoulders back, maintaining a straight line from elbow to bit as Bascule took off, closing Copia’s hip angle. His position was fluid, giving her freedom while securing his seat, keeping the angles closed over the oxer with an automatic release. The firm arms that held the cane over my throat at night were now soft and straight, allowing Bascule to pull them forward. 

Thierry whistled and clapped at the landing, and Copia circled the arena once in two-point before jumping again, his head and shoulders in front of the line upwards from his stirrup leathers, his knees and hips falling behind it. He looked flawless.

Copia slowed Bascule to a trot as Thierry and I watched, finally relaxing his legs, and then he walked her around the arena to cool her down. She seemed like an entirely different animal.

I fetched buckets of water for her in the paddock, and Thierry cleaned the saddle as I untacked her and brushed her out. Copia rested in his chair, staring at me and drinking from one of the water bottles I took on our ride. He seemed invigorated and not tired, his pants bulging again uncomfortably. He rubbed his cane against his crotch, but it didn’t soothe him at all.

“I almost forgot,” Thierry said after Bascule was in the pasture, returning from his truck holding a silver gift box tied with a bow.

I blushed as he placed it in Copia’s lap, indifferent to his bulge as he shook his hand goodbye. “Thank you, sir, for your business and continued friendship.” Copia nodded his head and said nothing in return.

I couldn’t look Thierry in the eye after that, and Copia rose from his chair after he left, holding the box and the cane. His erection looked unbearable, and he turned towards the tack room.

I took his elbow and escorted him to the bench, sitting next to him, and he placed the box in my lap, not saying a word.

I pulled the bow and gasped, my panties awash at the sight of it.

His blackened eyes burned when I looked at him, and he put his gloved hand to my neck, rubbing his knuckles below my ear as I fell silent. It was too much, yet I wanted it. I put my hand to his thigh and looked down at the floor.

“Here?” I asked cautiously, and he nodded, running his hand down my back to my ass.

I stood up to lock the tack room door, pulling the blinds closed, and the bright sunlight faded from the room.

Copia stood up, ambling to the worktable and setting the box down on top of the day’s tack. His eyes moved to my lips as he kissed me, and he held my face against his before sliding his hands to my shoulders.

He stepped back to trace over my body with his cane, teasing the tip over my breasts and down between my legs, sliding the shaft over my pussy. I didn’t need encouragement.

I undressed myself as he watched, and he used the cane to lift my clothes away.

He admired my body before lifting it from the box. It smelled heavenly, and I flinched when it brushed my skin. I stood still as he fastened the surrounding straps, feeling the soft leather as it contacted my lower back. Small knickers fastened to buckles, and his fingers adjusted the straps that covered and gripped each cheek in the rear.

“Christ,” I whispered when I was wearing the saddle. He ran his fingers over the leather and groaned before pushing tack aside on the worktable so I could climb up.

He pulled off all his clothing and joined me, kneeling as he brought my hands to the table so I was on all fours.

He nuzzled my face and neck, just as he’d done with his horses, and his hands were everywhere on my body as I separated my knees.

I bowed as his horse had done earlier in the day, and he groaned as he sidled up, his erection brushing my skin. I spread my legs to lower my ass, holding my breath in excitement as he lifted his knee and mounted me, hovering over the saddle in two-point position. I put my arms back to feel his thighs holding him up, and his fingers slipped over the leather stirrups at my hips and under the straps.

He leaned forward and put his hands to my lowered shoulders, enough that his cock fell beyond the curved pommel’s edge, and I felt him leaking onto my back. He growled as he pressed down with his hips, moving his hands to the table so he could nuzzle the back of my neck, pushing my pendant chain aside with his nose so his teeth could nip my hairline. I moaned under his bites as he worked his hands under my chest, heaving when he pulled back his posture and cupped my breasts.

He slid back over the saddle, dragging his wet cock over my backside on the way down, squeezing my cheeks in anticipation as I raised them up, giving him a glorious angle.

He shuddered from the penetration, trying to hold back as he drowned his cock between my lips, his breath already ragged, but still determined.

I felt his thumb at my clit as he found my spot, sliding in and grunting when he knew he hit it, repeating the motion as my back curled under him, keeping my forelegs and hindlegs tight, his seat adjusting as my balance changed on each thrust. His hips stayed flexible, opening and closing as needed, moving backward from the neutral position as he kept his back flat and chest open, his weight centered over my ass.

I screamed when I squirted, his hands sliding up my neck while holding his hips closed, providing a long crest release. I faltered, hips shaking, as I sprayed his thighs and the table, covering the strewn tack. The fluid excited him, and he lurched forward and snarled, dragging his teeth upward across my back as he came, holding me still as he pumped me full of cum, an onslaught of wild tremors he couldn’t control.

He rubbed my back before pulling out, and when I turned around and looked at our mess, his eyes were light. All the leathers from the day were soaked, and the horse pads were covered in stains.

Unfazed and content, he reached for me to kiss me, still stroking my saddle straps. It preoccupied him, and as I settled against his body to rest, his mustache was at my ear.

_“Doucement,”_ he whispered, as he pulled me close. _“Doucement.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be screaming into my pillow for the next two weeks.


	15. The Legend

  
_Like no other to you_  


 

The day we drove to Saumur was long. I rose early to care for the horses before our departure, and by the time Max had the car loaded and we were ready it was half past ten.

Copia was distant, still insisting on sleeping alone, and I hadn’t been with him since I wore the saddle two days ago. I assumed he wanted to quell the gossip about us at the château. Hushed whispers spread through the dining room whenever I entered, and I wondered who was to blame.

“They’re talking all right,” Cat told me as she smoked her cigarette on the veranda after breakfast. “Do they have a reason to be?” She smiled and made an obscene gesture.

“Cat!” I would never admit to the relationship and break Copia’s trust. “Let them think whatever they want.”

“Well, I’m not them.” She blew smoke over her shoulder before lowering her head and surveying my face. “Is he as good as he looks?”

“Cat!”

She laughed as she extinguished her cigarette, and when I hugged her goodbye, she whispered salaciously, “I would fuck him, too.”

When Copia and I departed, I felt the stares from the windows as the staff watched us get into the Phantom. It relieved me when Max closed my door and we could relax behind the tinted glass.

Copia looked out the window as I slid next to him. He gave Max a simple nod to start the car, and his attention was elsewhere as we winded down the driveway and headed through the village.

When we were on the _Route des Estuaires,_ I put my hand on Copia’s thigh, but I could only hold his interest for a moment. His eyes were far away, and I stroked his leg as he turned back to the window.

“Can we please talk?”

“Mhm,” he mumbled without turning his head. I glanced at Max and he appeared focused on the road.

“Why me?”

He didn’t answer.

“You said before we went to Toulouse you were watching me for nine years. Why? What does that even mean?”

He placed his hand on top of mine, staying silent, and finally turned his head.

“Not now.” His voice was low and his eyes earnest as they met mine before darting to check the rearview mirror. His head tilted when I recaptured his gaze, and he stroked my hair reassuringly.

“You haven’t slept.” I hadn’t noticed his tiredness.

He shook his head as he reached for my pendant and the _fleur-de-lis_ symbol slipped through his fingers.

Without a word, he laid his head in my lap, facing forward, and I made room for him to lie sideways across the seat. He slipped his hand under my summer dress and left it on my knee as we drove on and he fell asleep to the road sounds.

I stroked his back carefully. His bruises and scratches had nearly faded, and he was almost walking normally again. He looked vulnerable sprawled across my lap, and I wanted to protect him—if only I knew from whom or what.

When I leaned back against my headrest, Max was watching me in the rearview mirror.

  


* * *

  


Hours later, there was a fuss when we arrived at the guarded entrance of the Cadre Noir’s Terrefort estate. A crowd gathered as we pulled in front of the administration building, and Colonel Séverin, _écuyer en chef,_ welcomed us inside.

A group of _écuyers_ formed a circle around Copia, and the swarm of shouts and handshakes pushed me back.

_“La légende!”_

_“Maître extraordinaire!”_

_“Les Cuisses!”_

_“Maître Copia! C'est un honneur!”_

Copia shook each of their hands while nodding, and he seemed to know them all. I heard bits and pieces of news and boisterous stories as the roar took over the room, everyone enamored with him and his return and trying to impress.

An older man in black approached me and introduced himself as Colonel Bruno, the former _écuyer en chef_ who ran the corps during Copia’s years.

“I’m pleased you could accompany him today,” Bruno explained over the din, “but you cannot attend the gala rehearsal tonight. Performers only, I’m afraid.”

“Rehearsal?”

“I can’t wait to see him ride again,” he continued, not hearing my question over the noise. “If only he could perform with his best friend.”

I watched Copia as Bruno explained his role in the gala performance: something about the anniversary of the school, and how select former _écuyers_ were invited to attend and perform. I couldn’t hear it all over the racket, resigned to nodding until Copia finally turned back to look at us.

Waving the cane over his feet to clear a path, Copia approached to greet Bruno with a handshake and a long embrace for his dear friend.

“Excuse us,” Copia said to Bruno, pulling me aside by the arm and still not introducing me as his guest.

“Max will take you to the hotel. Don’t go anywhere without him.” Max moved to my side, and Copia nodded and grunted at him.

I felt irrelevant and disappointed Copia didn’t tell me about his performance. I didn’t even tour the grounds.

“Max will keep you safe,” Copia instructed, tucking his cane under his arm and placing his hands on my shoulders.

“Safe from what?”

“Please do as I ask.” His hands moved to my cheeks and held them to ensure I understood, and when I nodded, he kissed me quickly as if I were an acquaintance before Max escorted me outside.

The hotel on _Rue d’Alsace_ was elegant and romantic, and my attitude warmed when Max left Copia’s luggage in my room. Soft ivory linens lay beneath the crimson duvet, and damask wallpaper brightened the space where the sun shone from between the burgundy curtains. It was the largest suite at the top of the curved staircase, and when Max left, I used its private bath, robes and slippers.

The hotel guests were fashionable and sophisticated, and I packed dresses to fit in with one set of riding clothes for visiting the massive stables. Copia would show me the horses tomorrow, but for now, I asked Max to meet me at the hotel’s _l’heure de l’apéro_ while I waited for Copia’s return.

Max walked me from my room to the restaurant bar downstairs, and after seated at a small table for two, I ordered a kir. Radishes and salted butter arrived at our table with bread and rillettes, all arranged on a small tray garnished with nuts and olives.

Max politely declined the nibbles and drank plain water. As the bar filled with other patrons from the riding school, I observed he was still on the clock, monitoring the doors and the surrounding tables.

When Copia arrived by himself two hours later, there was another buzz in the room. He dressed sharply for dinner, hair slicked back and still damp from a shower.

“Your riding was flawless as always, _Maître,”_ one _écuyer_ complimented him when he passed by. Copia nodded and continued to my table, at which point Max stood up and relinquished his seat for a barstool perch.

“A drink,” Copia insisted even though I already downed two. He ordered himself mineral water as other members of the corps came by our table to congratulate him on his rehearsal performance and share more stories of their training and competition days.

“I am in awe of you still after all these years, _Maître,”_ one said, and Copia shook more hands without acknowledging my presence. I drowned myself in my glass as I waited for the commotion to die down, ordering my fourth kir.

When Copia stood up, I turned around to look as her name escaped his lips.

“Colette!” 

He kissed each cheek as my eyes drifted down the curves of her dress, her long black hair falling perfectly down her low-cut back.

“Nice to see you,” I added when she glanced down at me and smiled warmly.

“I didn’t know you were staying here,” Copia continued, motioning for Max to find another chair. “You must join us.”

Copia pulled her chair close to his, draping his arm over the back when they both sat down.

“I’m excited to see you perform again,” she gushed, putting her hand on his knee. “Bruno told me you were impeccable—a consummate performance just like the old days. I’m happy for you and can’t wait to see it.” She put her fingers lightly to his jaw and kissed his cheek near the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you.” He squeezed her shoulders as someone came by to take another drink order, and I declined another round.

“Are you working?” Colette asked me. “I didn’t see you around the stables.” I felt my face grow hot as she didn’t even realize she was intruding on my date.

“She’s not,” Copia intervened. “We’re touring the stables tomorrow.”

It wasn’t the most satisfactory answer, but I let it go. The room was fuzzy and the noise unbearable, and my response may not have been kind.

I nodded every few minutes as they reminisced about their past in the corps. They discussed horses, students they had, and equitation techniques she learned under his tutelage. There were no hints of romance in the conversation, but hearing about all the years they spent together was difficult—especially once she made him laugh.

I looked at my watch. “It’s time for our dinner reservation,” I announced as I put my hand on Copia’s arm to get his attention.

“You must join us,” Copia asserted, holding Colette’s hand to help her up before he reached for mine. I handed him his cane, and the host of the restaurant added a third chair to the romantic table for two near the garden doors at Copia’s insistence.

The waiter pushed aside my place setting to make room for Colette’s, and I frowned and looked at the sunset over the flowery yard as Copia pushed her chair in before sitting down. When the waiter offered wine, I asked quickly for a bottle.

I barely got a word in over the three-course meal, and when our waiter offered dessert and _digestifs,_ I sent him away. I had enough.

“You must be well rested for the show,” I admonished Copia, standing up and taking his hand. “Goodnight, Colette.”

Copia didn’t argue, leaning down to kiss Colette’s cheek before I led him away from the table. The restaurant and bar had emptied, and I was glad to make it upstairs encountering no one else.

When I locked the suite door for the night, Copia was aloof as he undressed. I had already unpacked his things earlier, and he cocked his head when I lifted the third bag onto the luggage valet.

He asked me to bring some specific equipment for our stable visit tomorrow, and I had thrown in a long length of rope. I didn’t expect to use it at the hotel, but it would do nicely.

“Keep going,” I hissed, when he was standing only in his underwear.

He eyed the rope in my hands as he stepped out of his underwear, and his cock, which had been half-hard all night, was now fully erect in anticipation.

“I need your undivided attention now. Sit down over there.”

Sheepishly and without the cane, he took a few steps to the upholstered French provincial armchair.

“Down,” I repeated as he sat. “Arms up.” I waited as he placed each forearm over the armrests. “Spread your knees.”

I circled the chair once before asking if he was comfortable.

“Good,” I replied to his nod, “because you’ll be in that position for a while.”

He kept still as I tied him to the chair, wrapping the rope around his chest, forearms and ankles.

I stood across from him near the bed to undress slowly, ensuring he saw everything.

“You’ve been ignoring me all day.”

His mouth opened, unsure what to say, his cock twitching.

“What must I do to get your attention?”

I lay back on the bed on my elbows, spreading my knees.

“Do you like this?” He blinked slowly when I lightly touched myself and didn’t answer.

His eyes enlarged as he watched me continue, and he nodded once.

I walked behind his chair and put one hand on his shoulder as I placed my wet fingers lightly over his mustache, leaning forward until my pendant touched his skin.

“Does Colette smell like this?” I hissed. There was a long pause before he tried to speak.

“She’s—”

I pushed my fingers in his mouth.

“Do not speak of her in our bedroom,” I chided.

I let him suck my fingers before pulling them away and pinching his nipple so hard that he groaned.

I moved around the chair to stand between his knees and stroked his cock mercilessly, quickly working him up into a frenzy as I stared at him, our faces nearly touching.

“Has Colette done that for you?” I asked icily when I let go.

He gritted his teeth, unsure if he should answer. I looked down at the head of his cock and wanted it immediately.

I put my hands over his arms as my knees slipped to each side of his hips, and I moaned when I felt his cock between my legs.

“Does Colette do this?” I grabbed hold of his sideburns as I writhed over his entire length.

“Don’t,” Copia’s blackened eyes closed as his head fell back. “Don’t.”

I felt it before I knew what was happening. He bellowed before his body lurched, burying his teeth in my shoulder, his warm semen running between my legs and over his abdomen.

This hadn’t happened in weeks, and I wondered if Colette caused his excitement or if it was something else entirely. I kept still as I decided what to do next, holding his head. When I let go, his eyes were red and apologetic. Saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth.

“We’re not finished,” I breathed as I stood up. “Watch your head.”

His eyes widened as I tipped the chair and he fell backwards to the carpet. I kneeled next to his head and watched his cum pool below his stomach.

“Take a deep breath,” I instructed, and he didn’t understand but opened his mouth anyway in confusion.

I swung my leg over him and planted my knees on each side of his head. Without warning, I sat on his face, rubbing myself back and forth over his prominent nose, lips and chin.

He tasted himself first, keeping his eyes open as I looked down upon him, and I gently placed my hand over his forehead, holding him in position when his tongue and mustache reached the right places.

I leaned back as he mopped between my lips with his tongue, and when he finally tasted me, his eyes closed. I clenched his coarse hair as I moved over him again, holding him down when I pulled away intermittently to allow his breath.

His face was wet from the bridge of his nose to his chin, his blackened eyes now smeared onto his cheeks. He gasped for air each time I suffocated him, and as I got closer, I pressed harder against his face.

I moaned now, forgetting my jealousy and focusing on how his lips felt when he sucked my clit hard. I let my knees slip wider as I felt my end, and he buried his face and closed his eyes when I came.

I shuddered over him, squeezing his head between my thighs, and when I finally pulled back and hovered over his chest, he gasped for air as our eyes met.

He wanted to say something but didn’t.

We showered together that night, and he gave me his full attention as we stood in the warm water, holding me in one arm as he washed me with the other.

When we were in bed, he kissed me as we faced each other, and I could tell something still troubled him. I put my palm to his cheek and stared at his gray circles, waiting for him to tell me, but he stayed quiet the rest of the night until I fell asleep.


	16. The Stallion

  
_What you’ve done you cannot undo_  


 

I followed Copia as he walked from stall to stall, softly speaking to each horse, stroking some of them on the nose and forehead as they stepped forward to greet him.

I had never been in a stable so large. Multiple uniformed stablehands were about, grooming the animals and preparing them for the gala performance that evening, and they greeted Copia by name as we passed.

“Here,” Copia called over his shoulder, opening the gate for us to enter one of the stalls.

The horse reacted affectionately to Copia’s greeting. It seemed they knew each other, and Copia became emotional as he whispered words I couldn’t hear. He pressed his face to the horse’s neck when he noticed me watching him, and I took a step back.

“My ride tonight,” he explained when he finally turned, his hand not leaving the white stallion. “You should meet him.”

I set down the tack bag I brought and stepped forward. Copia took my hand and placed it to the stallion’s face, sliding it upward over his forelock to his mane. Someone already groomed him, leaving his coat soft and shiny, and a noise escaped Copia’s throat as he pulled my fingers through the long strands.

I turned my head as our hands lingered on the horse’s neck, and he put his other hand to the animal so I was between his arms. His lips were soft at first and then insistent as his eyes closed and he pressed me back.

His mouth stayed open when he pulled away, both of us surprised by the intensity.

“The braiding kit,” he murmured as he dropped his hands.

I opened my tack bag and removed his kit, the tools and spray bottle neatly organized in holstered leather compartments over a belt. I held it open to him, expecting him to wear it, but he took the ends of the belt and stepped behind me, wrapping the kit around my hips and fastening it.

A small box hung on each stall door in the stable, and he opened ours and revealed its contents: white silk ribbons.

 _“Reprise des sauteurs?”_ I was incredulous. I was expecting the amaranthine tack worn by horses worked under saddle. The white tack was only for horses performing the airs above the ground.

He laid the ribbons over his shoulder.

“I have never seen you... do that.” I fell silent when he approached, his hands landing on my upper arms and turning me to face his horse.

“You must learn this.” I felt his breath on my neck as he stood behind me, reaching for the spray bottle on my hip. “Our technique is different.”

Someone already pulled the mane, and Copia sprayed the section of hair we started with, sliding the bottle back in the holster and keeping a hand at my hip. I slipped my fingers through the hair until it was damp, and Copia reached into the kit for a hair clip, pinning the rest of the mane back as I divided the hair into three even parts to start the braid.

He tied two ribbons together, leaving long ends for a bow, before laying the knot over the hair and securing it with a waxed band. Our hands worked in tandem, slowly and methodically at each crossover, pulling each section tight. His instructions were physical and not verbal, guiding my hands, holding the braid securely under his thumb, and slipping his fingers back to my hips for the braiding hook and more clips and bands as we went along.

My back grew hot as he pressed against it, and my arms tired from not standing on a stool, but I didn’t dare move and interrupt the flow. While I had observed Copia for months, he had never taught me anything personally, and the gesture—the intimacy—was something I never wanted to end. I felt his sideburns at my ear as he corrected my technique, his hands reassuring me when I made mistakes. Whenever he praised the horse, I could feel the emotion in his hands when they returned. He cared deeply for this animal—and for me.

A knock on the open door startled us, and I held onto the braid as Copia stepped away.

“I thought I’d find you here.” It was Colette followed by Bruno.

 _“Bonjour,”_ was all Copia said when he greeted them, kissing her and shaking his friend’s hand.

I saw consternation in his face as Bruno cleared his throat.

“You broke protocol bringing her here,” Bruno stated. “They’re not pleased.”

Bruno took my elbow, pulling me away from the horse. When Copia reached out to stop him, Colette stepped in front of him and intervened, trying to calm him down.

“She’s safer with me!” Copia blinked back defiant tears.

I watched Colette embrace Copia, not understanding his outburst. Was I in danger? Was he in trouble?

“Master Copia,” I called out, wanting acknowledgment he was all right. Colette turned her head.

“Go. I know how to take care of him when he’s like this.” She consoled him as he buried his head in her shoulder. What was happening? I didn’t understand.

Bruno didn’t say another word as he escorted me to the stable entrance where Max was waiting to take me back to the hotel.

  


* * *

  


I had ample time to get ready for the gala, admiring how I looked in the black dress I bought in Toulouse for the occasion. I had to call Max to the suite to zip it, and I hoped I would have my photo taken with Copia that evening. It could be our first picture together. I hadn’t seen him since his outburst in the stable, and I hoped he was all right and the situation wouldn’t impact his performance.

After Max parked the car, he escorted me inside to our seats at the _Grand Manège._ I was taken aback by the grandeur of the arena in this setting. While most galas sold public tickets, this event was private and by invitation only. Long curtains hung in the corners of the arena, and ribbons were wrapped around the rails, adding an air of elegance to the evening. Attendees, who were all affiliated with the school in some way, were dressed to the nines and seated by importance.

Max escorted me to a row high up and center—perfect for viewing.

“You’re supposed to sit next to me,” Colette instructed when we arrived. She stood up so I could pass, and Max sat on her other side at the aisle. The seat beside me was empty.

As I took in the atmosphere, Colette opened the clutch in her lap to find lipstick, and when she pulled out her compact, I glimpsed an envelope. I looked more closely and noticed the distinctive black, _fleur-de-lis_ wax seal.

“That’s private,” Colette reprimanded, snapping her clutch closed. When she finished her quick touch-up, she put her makeup away, turning her bag so I couldn’t see inside.

“Sorry,” I muttered under my breath, looking away as others took their seats around us.

“He was emotional today,” Colette stated, waiting to ensure I was listening. I met her gaze as she continued.

“He’s been anxious about his performance. That horse... is one of the progeny.” She paused to see if I understood. “A descendant of the stallion he had in the corps. There aren’t many.” I nodded for her to continue. “The last time he was here that horse was a mere colt.”

“And his stallion was alive,” I added. She nodded.

“His stallion died years after his wife’s death. It was a significant loss, and grief consumed him all over again.”

I wanted to ask about his wife since she brought her up, but Bruno sat down next to me while my head was turned, Colonel Séverin behind him on the other side.

“You’re sitting in her seat,” Bruno whispered, as Colette leaned forward to greet Colonel Séverin. When I didn’t understand, he added, “Madame Copia’s seat. Don’t get too comfortable.”

The lights dimmed, signaling it was time for the audience to take their seats and prepare for the performance.

A man climbing the stairs used the distraction to lean into our row, reaching for Colette. Max intervened, standing and pulling the man’s arms behind his back as he verbally attacked her. Security quickly escorted the man away.

Bruno put his hand on my arm. “I apologize for the disturbance,” he offered, and I was sure he could feel my racing pulse. “You have no enemies here. There are,” he searched for the right word, “traditionalists in our ranks. Those who are resistant to the changes we’ve made to the school—both in technique and admissions.”

“Are you OK?” Colette asked me quietly. I nodded, overwhelmed by everything that had transpired, and I felt nervous as the lights went down and the arena floor glowed red.

A small orchestra was at one end of the venue, and they began to play as the announcer introduced the show. I quickly forgot the scuffle as I became transfixed by the uniformed horses and riders in formation, gold braid swishing over the shoulders of the iconic black jackets, amaranthine rosettes and braids providing a unified appearance of the different horse breeds and colors, a mix of _Selle Français,_ Anglo-Arabians, and thoroughbreds.

I knew Copia wouldn’t perform until later in the show, so I tried to relax and enjoy the horsemanship. The insider crowd clapped often between skills, knowing the horses and riders even though they had not been individually named.

When the announcer introduced the _reprise des sauteurs,_ I sat forward in anticipation. I had no idea what to expect, feeling excited and worried at the same time.

Eight _écuyers_ led their white-tacked horses into the arena on foot, and I scanned the black jackets, looking for Copia. When I didn’t see him, I looked a second time, but he was not in the arena, and I became nervous. I watched the horses as they walked in various formations, executing the levade while raising and tucking their forelegs, and the capriole, when they took turns jumping and kicking out their hind legs.

As the music became more dramatic, the horses lined up in pairs, forming a path, and a single spotlight shone on the final performer who rode his horse into the arena. The other _écuyers_ stood tall in respect as he passed between the rows in a formal piaffe, with clean rhythm and a moment of suspension before each foot came down.

He was the most stunning horseman I had ever seen. Breaking tradition, Copia wore an all-white suit to match his Anglo-Arab, a white band wrapped around his black hat.

“A tribute,” Bruno whispered in my ear, but I was too focused to ask what he meant.

A symbol was emblazoned on the chest of his jacket, and it caught the light of the chandelier as he rode across the arena, the audience clapping for his arrival. His seat and thighs kept him in the modified saddle held by a crupper with no pad or stirrups.

The music changed again and slowed down, and he turned his horse to face our direction. His signals were imperceptible as the stallion transitioned into a levade and held it.

At the top of the maneuver, as the horse balanced on his lowered hocks, Copia extended his hand towards me in the crowd, his eyes wide and mouth open, until his arm fully straightened. He held the position for a moment as the audience clapped, but he wasn’t doing it for them. He moved his open palm over his heart and held it passionately as he stared at me from the arena floor, and when he saw my reaction to the gesture, his eyes turned black as they closed.

I pressed my legs together as he began his performance.

It was flawless and beautiful in execution, his stallion’s long neck and small head complimenting Copia’s flowing form as they transitioned through the movements, and as he completed each one, I burned under his gaze when he acknowledged me.

His posture was impeccable as he jumped forward in the courbette, and as he worked the arena, he showcased a series of perfect maneuvers. His stallion stayed parallel to the ground in the croupade, followed by ballotade and capriole jumps, his legs powerful and explosive just as his master’s.

Colette glanced at me, intrigued with my reaction, and I hadn’t realized I had been making slight sounds with each movement. What he was doing to me with his eyes, his legs, and his heart was most certainly foreplay, and the audience around me faded away as the applause grew and the other _écuyers_ filed behind him in a conclusive formation and demonstration, utilizing the entire arena together for the finale.

When the music stopped, two _écuyers_ presented him with a black cape to a roar of applause, an honor given to only the most distinguished and celebrated members of the corps. I lost sight of him in the standing ovation that followed, but as the audience dispersed, I saw him climbing over the rail and into the seats to reach me.

“Congratulations,” Colonel Séverin said as he shook his hand, and Bruno gripped his palm and patted his back as he passed.

Copia stood in front of me without his hat, and he carefully unpinned his cape and wrapped it around my shoulders as my knees felt weak, staring at me as he fastened it.

“You’re all right?” He put an arm around me, his other glove landing below my ear as he kissed me, stroking my cheek with his thumb. “I heard of an incident.”

“I was the target,” Colette acknowledged, and he turned toward her.

“Were you harmed?” Concern laced his voice as he looked at Max, but when Colette shook her head, he kissed her quickly on the lips, relieved, his arm still at my waist.

“Shall we go to the reception?” Colonel Séverin asked, and Copia’s eyes met mine.

“Saumur Brut awaits,” Bruno encouraged, referring to the traditional sparkling wine.

I didn’t hear Copia’s reply as I looked down at his suit. The texture of the jacket. The lapels and curved front hem. The buttons on the white and black gloves. I recognized it all, but I didn’t know how or why. I couldn’t place it, but I had seen it before.

“May I take you somewhere,” Copia asked in a low voice, and my eyes snapped back up to his as he slid his hand over my ass. Both colonels were already in the aisle on their way to the reception, Colette and Max following close behind.

“Please,” I urged as we kissed again, more passionately this time, and I felt the erection he had maintained for the entire performance.

He led me to the far aisle, away from the reception entrance, and down a hallway to a discrete _salon_ door, pushing it open.

The moment the door closed, I was against the wall, his gloved hands urgently lifting my dress and pulling my expensive underwear down, too frantic to even appreciate it.

He unzipped and dropped his trousers, leaning me back as he pushed his thigh between my legs to separate them.

He moaned as our tongues slid together, lifting his leg higher as I slid down to straddle it. Our sounds were bestial as he worked his hands up to my ass while I pulled at the buttons on his jacket.

Without warning, he grunted and hoisted me up so I straddled both his legs, and I pressed my back to the wall for leverage as I wrapped mine around his waist.

“So wet already,” he growled when his cock slipped inside my pussy, grunting loudly and adjusting the angle before he thrust inside using his powerful legs.

I slammed into the wall as he straightened, crying out when his cock impaled me. I clung to his arms as he grunted again, jostling my body against the wall on each thrust, his own version of a courbette, my pendant flying up and hitting his chin.

“Your—” I cried out as his girth sank deeper into me — “show,” I moaned, unable to move my legs or hips, held in suspension as his thrusts became turbulent. I circled his neck with my arms, grasping and pulling the hair at the nape of his neck when he thrust so deep my clit reached his pubic bone, the grinding and simultaneous fullness unbearable.

“Your lineage,” he rasped between grunts as his voice turned into a roar.

The next instant seemed to occur in slow motion as he smothered my mouth with his while I experienced his cataclysm. I buckled in excitement when I felt it, trying to consume all of him I could, not able to hold on anymore as my back slipped down the wall on the cape I still wore.

One more push from his legs lifted me back up, and he pinned me there, holding me still, opening his blackened eyes and watching me take the last of him as he panted, eyelids heavy.

He leaned his face against mine and kissed me one more time before he squatted, lowering my legs to the floor, out of breath at last but not letting go.

“We should join the others,” he mumbled, his voice fading in exhaustion.


	17. The Legacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is long—nearly 5,000 words. Get comfortable! There are several scenes and lots of dialogue. I'd love to hear what your favorite parts are in the comments! Thanks for reading! xx

  
_While you sleep in earthly delight_  


We regarded each other fondly in the mirror above the washroom sinks. I straightened my dress and rearranged my hair around my shoulders as he finished drying his hands.

“Let me see you,” I said when he dropped the hand towel in the hamper.

I looked over his hair first, smoothing down the flyaways, before my hands went to his shoulders and I checked his black circles. They hadn’t smeared.

I glanced down and turned him around, inspecting his white pants for lint.

“You should wear this,” I added, as I lifted the cape off the coat hook. “At least for the pictures.”

He stayed quiet as I draped it over him and pinned it. I held out his gloves and watched him zip on each one.

He put his hands to my upper arms, and I waited for him to speak as his thumbs stroked my skin.

“Let’s have a good time tonight,” he rasped.

He ran a finger over my pendant before holding out his right arm. When I took it, he pressed his elbow to his side as he escorted me to the reception. I tightened my grip.

There were cheers over the music when we entered the double doors of the reception hall. Copia seemed in good spirits as we mingled, and unlike when we first arrived at the riding school, he kept me on his arm and introduced me by name.

“So it’s you we must thank.” A young _écuyer_ named Hugo took my hand and kissed it.

“For what?”

“For him.” He nodded to Copia. “For returning. For performing again. I never thought I would see him ride here in my lifetime. You bring out his best if I may say so, _Maître.” _He glanced at Copia to ensure he didn’t overstep before continuing. “We’re in your debt. It would honor me if you would dance with me this evening.”__

____

“Thank you, Hugo.” Copia interjected before I could answer. 

“May I take your picture, _Maître Copia?”_ A photographer interrupted to usher us to a lit backdrop. Copia put his left hand on his hip and slid his other arm around my waist.

“A regal pose!” Bruno called out as the flash blinded us and I heard a series of clicks.

Copia let go of me to shake Bruno’s hand, and the photographer motioned for the two to get their picture taken together.

Copia assumed the same pose except he slid his arm over Bruno’s shoulder. His face remained stoic as Bruno smiled for the camera.

“We must celebrate with Saumur Brut,” Bruno exclaimed after thanking the photographer. It surprised me when he kissed me on the cheek. “Colette has a table over there,” he nodded to the right of the cocktail bar. “Why don’t you join her while we get your drinks?”

As I scanned the room and found her, I also spotted Max standing near the patio doors, watching us.

“Thank you.” I excused myself and headed towards Colette’s table as Bruno and Copia approached the bar.

“May I join you?”

“Please,” Colette answered, and I took the chair next to hers. “Did you enjoy the performance tonight?”

“Very much. I have seen him ride at the château but never anything like this.” I eyed the two empty champagne glasses in front of her.

“It was classic Copia. Every performance is like that. It’s so effortless for him. Even after all these years he hasn’t lost a step.”

“Did you two ever perform together?” I was genuinely curious.

“A long time ago,” she laughed, “when I was in my prime. But I was never as good as he is. He tried to teach me things, but I could only go so far.”

“I’m sure you were great,” I encouraged.

“I don’t have his art of movement as he progresses through a skill. His method of communicating,” she chose her next words carefully, “with his animals is something unique.”

“Extraordinary,” I agreed.

“The physicality of his technique is everywhere yet invisible. It’s coursing through his entire body—you can sense it, feel it—but you see nothing at all when he issues the commands.” 

She turned her head towards the bar. _“Calme, en avant, droit,”_ she recited as Copia and Bruno headed our direction, each holding two champagne flutes.

When she glanced back at me, she apologized.

“The Cadre Noir motto,” she lamented, although I already knew. She looked down at the table. “The nostalgia is heavy tonight.”

“Ladies.” Copia held out his hands as he approached, and Colette and I each took a glass.

 _“Portons un toast,”_ Bruno declared as he handed Copia his sparkling wine and waited for him to speak. Colette and I stood up.

 _“Levons nos verres,”_ Copia began, “to old friends.” His gaze went from Bruno to Colette, lingering before he continued. “And those we lost.” His voice turned somber at the recollection, and Colette put her hand on his shoulder.

“She will always live in our hearts,” Bruno added, referring to Madame Copia.

“She and Aurélien would have loved your performance tonight,” Colette assured him. “It was a perfect tribute to him.”

“To an exemplary performance,” Bruno professed, and we took turns clinking glasses while looking each other in the eye.

As we finished our toast, other _écuyers_ approached to speak to Copia.

“May I have your first dance?” Bruno extended his hand, and we both looked at Copia before I took it. Copia nodded for me to go on without him.

I set my glass on the table as Bruno took me onto the floor where other couples were already dancing. He confidently pulled me into position, his right hand below my left shoulder blade, his left hand extended and holding my right.

“Copia is quite popular here,” Bruno chatted lightheartedly as I placed my hand on his upper arm. “The least I can do is keep you entertained.” He smiled as we started to move. “Are you having a good time tonight?”

“Yes, but it’s a bit... overwhelming to be here.” It was the truth.

“I apologize for the altercation before the show,” he said as we turned. “And earlier today, I thought it best to intervene and spare you from Colonel Séverin. Copia had no business taking you to the stables.”

“Thank you, but I just meant... seeing this part of Copia’s life is awe-inspiring. I know him differently, apart from the grandeur of all of this.”

“He is truly a legend here. It’s not exaggerated.”

We circled the floor, and when I glanced over his shoulder, I saw Colette’s arm wrapped around Copia’s, the two of them engrossed in a group conversation.

“May I ask, who was Aurélien? Colette mentioned him?”

“Another _écuyer_ in the corps, and Copia’s best friend. I remember the two of them doing everything together. He was just as good as Copia—possibly better.”

“And what became of him?”

“He left the Cadre Noir, many years before Copia.”

The music stopped then, and as everyone clapped, we left the dance floor.

“Thank you,” I said to Bruno as I retrieved my glass. I stood next to Copia, and he put his arm around my hips as Bruno whisked Colette onto the floor.

We sat down when the crowd at our table dispersed and watched the dance as I sipped my sparkling wine.

“She’s had a lot to drink,” I whispered to Copia, and he nodded in amusement.

  


* * *

  


An hour into the reception, the atmosphere relaxed. Jackets came off. Shirt sleeves rolled up. Servers roamed the hall offering passed appetizers while attendees moved on from sparkling wine to liquor. Copia drank Cognac, and he left me temporarily to smoke a cigar on the patio outside.

Hugo seized the opportunity to take me for his aforementioned dance.

“He should never leave you unattended,” Hugo hummed as we started out, light on his feet.

We chatted about the performance as we went on, and I smiled at Copia from across the room when he returned from outside, receiving a quick acknowledgement.

As we circled the floor my back turned, and when I came around again, I watched Copia follow Colette to a hallway leading to the exit.

“Am I that bad a dancer?” Hugo asked, and I apologized for my inattentiveness as we circled to the opposite corner of the floor.

I stole glances whenever we turned, and Colette was now leaning against the wall, Copia in front of her with his hands on her waist.

The next time I spotted them, Colette’s arms circled Copia’s neck and someone had lifted her cocktail dress, his gloveless hands disappearing beneath its sheath. I smiled at Hugo fleetingly as we turned again, other couples obscuring my view. I had seen the arousal on his face, his body pressed against hers.

On our final circle around the floor, I saw the side of her bare ass before Copia pulled her hem back down and Hugo turned me away from the scene.

As the song ended, I returned to the bar straightaway. I caught Max’s eye and signaled for him to join me, but he shook his head. I took two cocktails from the bartender and surprised Hugo by joining him at his table.

My head felt numb when Copia finally approached us.

“A dance,” was all he said. He held out his hand as I emptied the second glass.

When we were on the floor, I felt all eyes on us. Copia pulled me close so he could talk in my ear.

“We’re leaving soon,” he rasped.

I didn’t answer. I noticed Max sitting with Colette now.

The room was spinning more than it should as we circled, and Copia slowed his steps as he led me around the floor. He smelled wonderfully of his cigar, and my body slackened in his firm hold.

“Take me to bed,” I murmured when the music ended, causing his eyes to flicker. We said our goodbyes as we made our way to the exit, Max and Colette following us.

Back at the hotel, we separated at the top of the stairs.

“Max will see you inside,” Copia instructed, holding Colette up as she staggered.

He waited until I nodded before guiding Colette down the hallway to her room, turning the corner. Max opened the door to our suite, and when I was inside alone, I changed, waiting for Copia beneath the covers. He was gone for too long.

I rolled onto my back when the door finally clicked, and Copia came in and sat down on the edge of the bed. I might have dozed off while I waited—I wasn’t sure. 

His face hovered above mine, and when I reached my arms out, he bent forward. I smelled a trace of perfume when I hugged him, and when he sat upright again, I remembered what I wanted to say.

“I recognize the suit,” I shared triumphantly, realizing then I slurred my words.

“Impossible,” he whispered. His eyes sparkled as my hand clumsily reached his lapel, dragging my fingertips down the textured fabric. He put his hand over mine and held it to his chest.

 _“Ma choupinette.”_ He stroked my forehead with his other hand until my eyes closed, and that was the last thing I heard until he leaned forward to kiss me goodnight. _“Je n'ai pas ressenti ça depuis longtemps.”_

  


* * *

  


“Where is he?” I asked Max when he took the driver’s seat. I woke up that morning alone, and Max informed me as soon as I opened my door that I was to change into riding clothes before he accompanied me downstairs.

“The academy.”

I only had time for one coffee in the hotel bar.

After we drove through the gates, Max turned off the main road, leaving a trail of dust behind us as we circled the outbuildings, disappearing into a thicket of trees. When we emerged on the other side, Copia appeared with two horses, one chestnut and one bay _Selle Français_ with white markings on their lower legs.

“Good morning.” I kissed Copia before greeting the horses.

“I trust you slept well.”

“Did you?” I turned to look him in the eye as I pet the horses, and he stayed silent. “They’re beautiful. Did you ride?” I admired the saddles.

“Not yet.” He nodded for me to mount up.

“I’m sure I’m not supposed—”

“I have a friend at the stables.”

Cautiously, I took the reins of the chestnut stallion, gathering them with a tuft of mane. When I looked down at the stirrup, Copia had already lowered it a few holes. Our eyes met again before I lifted my left foot and grasped the cantle. I felt Copia’s hands on my backside as I pushed up and swung my leg, settling gently into the saddle.

Copia stroked the horse to calm him before bending forward to adjust my stirrup, grunting when he finished and holding my knee in both hands.

“Are you ready to run,” he rasped.

He turned and mounted the bay stallion, and my horse felt charged as Copia’s lifted his head.

We walked together along the dirt path until a horse trail parted the trees, leading north. Our stallions were quiet yet energetic as Copia turned to glance at me, and without warning, he took off.

I chased Copia, and as the trail widened, he slowed just enough to taunt me before he broke into a full gallop. I struggled to catch up as the trees disappeared behind us and we entered a clearing, and I pushed ahead so we galloped together, taking in the wide green pastureland as we raced to the place where it disappeared into the blue waters of the Loire.

“A maiden break,” Copia declared as we slowed down at the river. “Impressive.”

“You let me win.”

He looked downstream as we walked along the bank.

“You’ve always had it in you.”

His acclaim made me giddy, and I didn’t know how to respond to it.

We were quiet the rest of the ride, and Max waited for me when we returned to the grounds. Copia was to spend his afternoon with the colonels.

“My legs will ache tomorrow, won’t they,” I said to Copia when he caught me after dismounting.

I hadn’t tied my hair back, and he stared at me, pushing windblown strands behind my ear.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” I started, breaking his gaze and looking down, “but I wish you’d stay with me tonight. It’s our last night here.”

“Mhm,” he mumbled as we embraced. “You’ll need a hot bath.” I felt his warm, wet tongue run from my clavicle to my ear.

  


* * *

  


That evening, Colonel Séverin hosted our farewell dinner at a _troglodyte_ restaurant. There were eight in our party, seated at a rectangular chef’s table near the _tuffeau_ stone oven. The caves were a honeycomb of rooms, splitting the dining room into sections, enough so I couldn’t tell how many tables it held. The cool air provided a welcome respite from the warm temperature outside.

Séverin knew the _maître d'hôtel,_ and the two planned an elaborate _service à la française_ in which guests could experience the region’s gastronomy at once, with multiple dishes covering the entire table for each course.

Copia sat at the foot of the table, opposite Séverin, as his guest of honor. Colette sat to Séverin’s right, and I sat to Copia’s, with Bruno and three _écuyers_ —all former students of Copia’s—filling the remaining seats.

Two waiters poured _Sancerre_ and _Bourgueil_ wines to pair with the upcoming dishes, and Colonel Séverin raised his glass in a farewell toast.

“To your everlasting legacy,” he began, addressing Copia. “Your horsemanship the past three days is the finest I’ve witnessed. What you accomplished in the corps is extraordinary, yet you continue to leave your mark and inspire our students.”

 _“Merci, Colonel,”_ Copia acknowledged before looking at his _écuyers. “Mes étudiants constituent le legs le plus précieux de moi.”_

Everyone raised their glasses and tasted the wine as the table filled with bowls and platters.

Hot _la fouée_ came from the nearby oven with pork _rillettes_ and two summer soups, followed by fresh fish and wild game that were the stars of the meal: _sandre_ pike perch _au buerre blanc,_ stuffed bream with potatoes, and a summer _matelote_ stew, served alongside fowl covered in wine sauces laden with mushrooms from a nearby cave farm. White asparagus and other summer vegetables covered the table, next to poached eggs _au Chinon,_ a ham _saupiquet,_ and a _pâté berrichon._

Bruno shared stories from the past.

“When you first arrived as a student,” he glanced at Copia, “you never spoke to anyone. But after Aurélien joined the corps a few years later and befriended you, everything changed. You were the life of the party after the two of you knocked back a few drinks.”

“This meat is delicious,” Copia interrupted, but Bruno carried on.

“Remember the morning I found you sleeping in the stables?” Bruno was laughing.

Copia feigned a smile, and the other _écuyers_ laughed at the thought. There was another story about the two friends getting into trouble at the river which caused more laughter, and as plates were cleared for the third course, Copia excused himself to fetch more wine from the cellar.

He was gone for too long, and I left the table to find him but became lost in the caves. When I oriented myself and found the cellar entrance, I realized Copia wasn’t alone.

“This is all a distraction,” I heard when I approached, and I stopped and peered around the wall without entering. Two dark-haired men in suits had Copia cornered. I remembered passing them when we first entered the restaurant.

“Don’t forget your purpose,” the man continued, taking a step closer.

“Remember who I am,” Copia warned in a menacing voice, not backing down. “You know who I’m going to be.”

The walls echoed his words as a shadow approached behind me. Max brushed my arm as he entered the cellar. I didn’t know he was in the restaurant.

“He’s meeting his obligations,” Max reported as he took his place next to Copia. The pairs of men stared at each other in silence.

“They were leaving,” Copia announced, and I turned away and hurried back to the dining room before the others knew I was listening.

When Copia returned to the table, he had wine bottles under each arm, and we shared a look as he sat down, but he said nothing. The waiters opened his wine selections.

The third course was already on the table: an assortment of goat cheeses and summer fruits, served with _sabayon de golden, tarte Tatin,_ and _nougats de Tours._ I tried _Selles-sur-Cher_ dusted in ash and _Crottin de Chavignol,_ while Séverin sliced into the _bûche_ of _Sainte-Maure de Touraine,_ avoiding the signature piece of straw in the middle.

“Have you given my proposition any thought?” Séverin looked to Copia as he lowered the cheese knife and the table quieted down.

“What did you propose?” Colette asked.

All eyes were on Copia, who was leaning back in his chair with his legs crossed.

“Respectfully, Colonel,” his blackened eyes circled the table, acknowledging each person before resting on Séverin, “I must decline. My future is not here; it’s somewhere else.” His eyes darted to me, and he placed his hand over mine on the table. “I’m honored, but I cannot accept an academy position.”

Bruno gasped as the _écuyers_ rumbled simultaneously in surprise and disappointment that an offer was extended and declined.

Séverin turned to Colette. “Well then, please see to it that he visits again. I couldn’t convince him to return without your help.”

“Yes, sir,” Colette answered, and we exchanged an awkward glance.

Max waited at the restaurant’s entrance when our dinner concluded, and he drove Copia and me to the hotel while the others continued on to have a drink together in town. My legs already ached from the horse race, and I couldn’t wait to take off my heels.

  


* * *

  


In the suite, Copia removed his dinner jacket before heading to the bath. I heard the roar of the water as I undressed and put on a robe, and when I poked my head in to see what he was doing, the room was already steamy, the lights dimmed, and his sleeves rolled and cuffed at the elbows. Scattered tealight candles reflected in the mirror as he lifted a bath tray left as part of the turndown service.

“Get in.”

I eyed the foaming water as he turned off the faucet. He caught my robe as it slipped from my shoulders, holding an arm out for me when I stepped in the tub.

The water reached my pendant when I reclined and relaxed my legs. I watched Copia hang my robe, and when he turned around, he kneeled on the floor with his legs spread, his forearms resting on the tub’s rim: a position that would be awkward and uncomfortable for anyone but him. He laid his chin on his wrists and stared at me as I acclimated to the temperature.

“It’s big enough for both of us,” I encouraged. He put one hand in the water so it rested on my knee—my cue to stop talking and relax. I detected bath oil, and I inhaled the delicate fragrance.

I closed my eyes, but I had trouble letting go of everything I witnessed. I thought about the men in the wine cellar and wondered who they were. Who would Copia become, and what did Max mean about his obligations? I didn’t understand it. I wasn’t surprised to find out Colette pushed Copia to take the trip to Saumur, but I was sure she didn’t expect me to come along. Yet something still happened last night between them.

I sighed as I felt both Copia’s hands now massaging my legs, and I looked at him.

“Why wouldn’t you return to the Cadre Noir?” I thought about Séverin’s invitation. “You’re so highly respected here, and you have so much to offer.”

He contemplated my question as his fingers dug into my calf.

“Would you want that.”

I considered it for a moment.

“Only if I were with you.”

“Mhm.” His fingers made long strokes, releasing the tension in my lower leg before moving on to the next one. I hoped he would have more to say. I thought about the word he used in front of everyone else and bravely decided to ask.

“Am I... in your future?”

Our eyes met but his hands never stopped.

“Would you want that,” he said again, turning the tables. He saw everything in my eyes but continued my massage nonchalantly.

“I don’t want to share you.” It was honest, and my answer caused his mouth to part.

“She’s my dearest friend.” He moved both hands to the pressure points behind my knees. “Sometimes she needs me,” he added, when he saw that was not enough.

He reached for an eye gel mask from the bath tray and placed it over my eyes. When they were covered, I felt his kiss, and he took his time.

His palms slid up the backs of my thighs, working my hamstrings one at a time. There was more to say, but it felt like the mask weighed down my words, and I couldn’t force anything out.

As his hands moved higher up, I felt my arousal, and he slowed down to massage away my remaining defenses. I bent my knees and rested them on the sides of the tub as his hands ran along my quads, rubbing them out before they dipped into my inner thighs.

I clenched his shirt at the chest when I felt his lips again, and I slid down further into the water, taking him with me as his torso slipped over the rim of the tub with a splash.

“Please get in,” I insisted, pushing the eye mask off.

I let him go and watched him strip. When he peeled his clothes off, I found myself at eye level with his cock. I caused a wave as I moved closer to suck it, but he didn’t let me have him long, pushing me away and softly groaning.

He pressed my shoulders forward so he could sit behind me, and when I made room for him, the water sloshed dangerously close to the edge. He spread his legs and pulled me back between them so my head rested on his shoulder.

“Mhm.” It was a quiet, content sound in my ear as my hands skimmed his thighs.

He took a natural sea sponge from a glass on the bath tray and submersed it near my hip. When it was saturated with warm water, he slowly grazed it across my neck and down my chest, sending water streaming down my breasts that floated at the waterline. He warmed the sponge again, gliding it across my shoulders and upper arms, and on the last dip, he circled each breast and teased each nipple until I pressed the side of my face against his sideburns.

The sponge drifted away as he cupped my breasts and I pushed myself up slightly higher with my feet so he could reach between my legs. I felt his cock against my backside when his hand slid down, and I eagerly pressed against his fingers, sloshing the water once more.

I moaned for him. Against him. Because of him. And I whined whenever he paused and slowed down, pulling his fingers away to tease me with underwater currents that vibrated over me.

He shifted beneath me as he reached for the empty glass that held the sponge, lifting his pelvis so mine tipped slightly back. He held me open with his long fingers while he trickled warm water down my body, emptying the glass over my pussy. He stroked me lightly with his middle finger between downpours, spreading me each time for the waterfall. My fingers dug into his thighs as I whimpered and shuddered.

Setting the glass down, he pressed his palm to my throat as he continued to rub my clit, which made me moan louder. He held my neck firmly against him as I felt his mustache and breath behind my ear. I heard the rumble of excitement in his throat, but his control prevailed. His strokes carried an even, persistent rhythm, and I panted along with it, unable to move and change the pressure.

The water rippled as my body jerked, and he held me tight and kept going, not yielding either hand until I writhed in pleasurable distress and water cascaded over the tub and onto the floor.

I gasped for air while he softly stroked my collarbone, and he pressed his other hand over my pussy as he waited for me to finish completely.

“You’re getting cold,” he murmured into my neck after I rested a moment.

Copia helped me stand shakily and get out of the bath before he drained it, pulling me into the shower. After warming me under the stream, we washed each other’s hair. I placed my palms above his ears and rubbed his scalp, working down to the back before returning to the top of his head. Before he rinsed, I used a washcloth to clean the black circles from his eyes. When he finished my hair, he drew it into one hand and pulled my head back, kissing me fiercely as he reached for the handheld sprayer and aimed it between my legs, watching me quiver all over again.

“Thank you for the bath,” I breathed after we used warm towels and fell into bed, a mess of tangled legs. We faced each other, and I draped my top leg over his, wrapping it around his waist to pull him closer. It wasn’t long before his painfully hard cock slipped inside, our tongues pressed together, his arms around me.

“I do want it,” I confided later after we finished, and I lay on his chest. “A future,” I explained as he slowly stroked my arm, “wherever that leads.”

He was reticent about his plans.

“It could even be here,” I added to fill the silence. “You seem to think I need some sort of protection, but the truth is I find this place comforting.” I glanced up at him, and he was hanging on every word.

“There’s something about the academy, something about the horses,” I continued softly, “that I find... heartening.”

His contented eyes swelled, and he abruptly rolled over, pinning me on my back, to deliver an impassioned kiss.


	18. Blackness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter! There are some French song lyrics that tie in to the story for you Francophiles. <3 You can find these _chansons_ online if you want to listen or translate. Please share your thoughts on the chapter in the comments!

  
_Still your soul will suffer this plight_  


At sunrise, I found the bed empty. I drew the curtains open and stood by the window to look over the trees framing the garden.

I wanted to know. I needed to know.

I dressed and tied my hair back before slipping out the door, quietly pulling the latch closed. When I looked down the hallway towards her room, I took a deep breath.

I wasn’t sure what I would say when I confronted them. I had nothing prepared. Perhaps we would say nothing at all. I needed to see it, them—his betrayal—with my own eyes.

When I turned the corner, a housekeeping cart stopped me.

_“Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Mademoiselle?”_

I glimpsed Colette’s room through the open door. The bed was already stripped of its linens.

“Isn’t it early to be cleaning?” I asked the housekeeper.

“The guests have already checked out, _Mademoiselle._ I apologize if I disturbed you.”

“Guests? Was there a man?”

“I didn’t see, _Mademoiselle."_

“Thank you.” I turned to leave.

Downstairs, the doorman greeted me.

 _“Maître Copia_ went to the stables, _Mademoiselle."_ He paused awkwardly when I didn’t reply. “You’re looking for him?”

“Yes,” I admitted sheepishly. I looked to the bar, but I saw no one making coffee.

“May we drive you there?”

“Oh.” I wasn’t expecting that, and I considered what Bruno would say about it.

“It would be our pleasure.” He snapped his fingers for the hotel driver outside, deciding for me. I surveyed the lobby before exiting, looking for Max, but I saw no one.

“A guest for _Maître Copia,"_ the driver announced to the guard when we arrived at the school.

“Proceed to the administration building,” the guard instructed, waving us through the gate. When the hotel driver parked, I asked him not to wait, and when the car was out of sight, I followed the footpath to the stables.

The staff was already up working, and I waited between buildings until it was clear.

I saw the opened stall door from a distance—the same place we braided his stallion.

I advanced slowly, ensuring my footsteps made no sound, until I stood behind it. When I peeked through the door crack, I saw Copia methodically grooming the progeny. The open tack bag I brought on the trip was on the ground.

“He’ll never forget you.” I startled at hearing Colette’s voice. She was standing to the side, her back towards me.

I watched them in silence. Some of the brushes he asked me to bring were years old, and they held some sentimental value.

“How can I leave him.” Copia’s voice broke when he put both hands on the stallion, and he took a moment to gather himself. “This place,” he raised his forearms out to his sides, palms up, “has taken everything from me. It has cursed me since I set foot here as a boy.” Copia turned to the horse and brushed him again.

“Bruno will look out for him,” Colette suggested.

“Just as he did my wife?” I heard the anger behind his sadness.

“None of you could have prevented it,” Colette reassured him. “Not Bruno, not you... not even Aurélien. It was an accident. You know that. I thought we were past this.”

Copia ignored her as he brushed long strokes across his stallion’s shoulder and barrel.

“Remember when we were training for the championships? You and Aurélien were so competitive. We had such a good time back then.” Colette paused, but Copia didn’t acknowledge her. “We had so many good times here—good years here. And you will have good years again.”

“Everyone has been taken from me,” Copia deadpanned. “The horses I loved... the people I loved.”

“Not everyone.”

I watched Colette go to him, and he dropped the brush and pressed his face to her shoulder when they embraced. When he lifted his head, his cheeks were wet.

“You have a future now with her,” Colette whispered, and I felt my hair stand on end.

“I’m putting her in danger,” Copia uttered.

“I know you can protect her.” Colette put her hands to his sideburns, wiping away his tears with her thumbs. “I can see how much you love her.”

My heart thumped so loudly I worried they could hear it.

Copia put his hands over Colette’s and slowly pulled them from his face. He held them for a moment, and I watched him kiss her knuckles before I retreated towards the administration building, my heart racing.

When I was on the footpath, I froze at Colonel Séverin’s voice.

“Where do you think you are going unchaperoned?”

 _“Bonjour, Colonel,”_ I gasped, not realizing I had been holding my breath. “I was admiring the grounds while I waited for _Maître Copia.”_ I smiled at him. “Impressive,” I added, but he didn’t warm at all.

“Come with me,” he ordered. “You’ll wait in my office.”

When we were inside, he offered me _un café._ The guest chair in front of his desk was hard and uncomfortable.

“You’ve made an impression since you’ve arrived.”

“Hopefully a good one,” I chimed in, but he didn’t acknowledge it. I sipped my coffee.

“Where are you from?”

“Normandy.”

“Ah! I heard you know something about horses. You grew up riding then?”

“No. There are many riding schools in Le Havre where I grew up, but we couldn’t afford things like that. My father worked at the port, and I spent my summers at the beach promenade. My interest in horses started when I was older. In fact, I’m still studying equitation now.”

“Is that how you met Copia then?”

“I applied for a job,” I answered. “As his stablehand.”

Séverin nearly spit out his coffee.

“I worked for several years at _les fermes équestres,”_ I continued, trying not to be insulted, “and at the World Equestrian Games a few years ago.”

His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized my face and words.

“I was very pleased to attend the gala,” I mentioned, changing the subject. “Thank you for hosting us. The experience this week was incredible.”

He nodded, but his body remained stiff.

“A stablehand.” He leaned back in his chair. “He could have hired anyone for the position.”

“I’m experienced,” I reminded him, bristling at his tone. “I take good care of his animals.”

“So you met him before?”

“No.”

“So he picked you for the job, a complete stranger, when he has hundreds of acquaintances he could have asked?”

He made me uncomfortable now, and I didn’t know what he was insinuating. Before I could reply he snorted in disbelief.

“I should go, Colonel. We’re leaving today, and I need to pack our things. Thank you for the coffee.” I set my empty cup on his desk and stood up.

“Sit down. Copia will be here any minute.” His voice made it clear I had no choice.

I dreaded more questioning, but he occupied himself reading paperwork at his desk and disregarded me completely. It was quiet enough I could hear his office clock ticking.

A few minutes passed before Copia burst through the doors, Colette and Bruno behind him.

“There you are,” Copia exclaimed, offering his hand. His eyes questioned me, but he wouldn’t trouble me in front of Séverin. “We’re returning to the hotel,” he confirmed as I stood up. “Max is waiting. Thank you, Colonel, for your hospitality.”

“I look forward to seeing you again.” The colonel stood up and shook hands with Copia and me while Bruno and Colette waited at the door. “Let me know if you change your mind about my offer,” he directed at Copia, and Copia nodded.

“You must watch yourself,” Bruno warned when we were outside out of earshot. “If I hadn’t seen you enter his office, this could have ended harshly. You can’t just wander about the estate.”

“I’m sorry. I was just looking for Copia,” I answered as we reached the Phantom. Max held open the rear passenger door.

“He shares traditionalist views. He’s not an easy-going fellow.”

“Thank you for bailing me out. And for the dance.” I smiled at Bruno. “I enjoyed my time here.” We kissed cheeks before I slid into the backseat.

Copia and Colette were saying goodbye. I couldn’t see their faces, but I saw their shadows meet on the pavement.

“My car is on its way, but I’ll see you soon. Thank you for taking care of me,” I heard her say, but I couldn’t hear his reply.

Copia shook hands with Bruno before taking his place next to me, and Max closed the door after putting the tack bag in the trunk.

As Max started the car, Copia reached for my hand and rubbed his thumb across my knuckles. I knew I’d made a mistake when I saw the disappointment on his face.

  


* * *

  


Back at the hotel, I stopped in the bar for a pastry before I followed Copia upstairs to our suite. He zipped his white suit into a garment bag as I packed my belongings, and I laid his cane diagonally across his clothes before closing his suitcase. He hadn’t used it since we first arrived.

“My jealousy got the best of me,” I finally admitted when we finished, but I wouldn’t apologize for it. “You were with her again.”

“It’s not what it seems.” He sat down on the bed and waited for me to join him.

“But... I’ve seen you.” I sat sideways next to him so I could see his face.

His lower lip fell, but no words came out.

“What happened at the dance?”

I saw blackness when he lowered his eyes.

“She was enjoying the moment,” he answered as he met my gaze again.

“Were you?”

“I kept her from embarrassing herself.”

“Tell me you haven’t...” I whispered. I couldn’t bring myself to finish. 

His eyes saddened, and he put his hand on my arm.

“It’s not... like that.”

We were interrupted by loud knocks on the door. “It’s Max, sir,” he announced from the hallway.

Copia raised his brows to excuse himself before opening it. When Max had our luggage in hand, Copia held out his arm, pulling his elbow in tightly over my hand when I took it.

Downstairs, the bar was filling up, and I spied the two men from the cave at a corner table. As we strode past them, they turned to stare.

“Did you see those men?” I asked Copia when we were in the Phantom backseat. “They were watching us.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Copia put his palm in my lap, and when Max was behind the wheel, he nodded for him to drive.

“Music please, Max,” Copia remarked when we had been on the highway a while and crossed the Thouet. I felt his mustache at my ear as his arm slid behind my shoulder. “Mhm,” he mumbled as he adjusted our position, turning us sideways against the door so I could lean against his chest. When I was comfortable, he draped his arm loosely across my waist.

He beamed when the cabin filled with the melodies of Guy Béart, singing along and humming under his breath.

> _La Chabraque, la Chabraque qu'avait d'la défense et d'l'attaque_  
>  _La Chabraque, la Chabraque qu'avait un chien fou, un chien-loup_
> 
> _La Chabraque, la Chabraque qu'avait d'la défense et d'l'attaque_  
>  _La Chabraque, la Chabraque qu'avait un chien fou, un chien-loup_  
> 

The heavy reverberation in his chest felt pleasurable, and as the song ended, he lingered when he kissed the top of my head.

“You had something to discuss.” He took a wisp of my hair that had come loose and twirled it around his index finger above my ear.

“Colonel Séverin,” I volunteered as he released my hair, speaking quietly so Max wouldn’t hear. “We had an interesting chat.” I peeped over my shoulder at his face, and he waited expectantly for me to finish.

“He implied it’s no coincidence you hired me.” I let the words fall.

His hand lightly massaged my neck, his fingers crossing my hairline, as I felt his voice through my back again, taking a lower octave on the next song.

> _Qu'on est bien_  
>  _Dans les bras_  
>  _D'une personne du sexe opposé_  
>  _Qu'on est bien_  
>  _Dans ces bras—là_
> 
> _Qu'on est bien_  
>  _Dans les bras_  
>  _D'une personne du genre qu'on n'a pas_  
>  _Qu'on est bien_  
>  _Dans ces bras—là_  
> 

“Please tell me why,” I interrupted. “Why did you hire me at the château.” I looked him in the eye as he slipped the band from my hair, loosening my tresses.

“You’re qualified,” he crooned matter-of-factly. “Good references,” he hummed as he buried his fingers between my locks, averting my gaze.

“I’m serious. You could have hired anyone as your stablehand, but you chose me. Why?” I stayed calm but insistent as I pressed for answers.

“You are... different.” He paused when our eyes met again, squeezing his arm around my waist as he pushed hair back behind my ear. “You needed a chance to reach your potential.” I focused on his lips because when he spoke of me, I could only hear blood roaring in my ears.

“I-I don’t understand.”

“I’ve observed you with many horses over the years, including my own. You have the aptitude. The propensity.” He placed his fingers under my chin. “The gift.”

I stared at his mustache, enthralled and caught off guard by his revelation.

“You needed an opportunity,” he whispered. “I wanted to mentor you.”

“Like Colette.” I caught his eyes again.

“No. You’ll be successful on your own, outside the academy.”

I put my head to his chest again, unsure what he was talking about.

“I saw you and Colette in the stable this morning,” I disclosed, since the conversation seemed truthful.

He stiffened but didn’t appear upset.

“Why bring me to the château if it put me in danger?”

“Mhm.” His chest rumbled as he took a long breath. He leaned us forward and sat upright, placing his feet on the floor before he drew me onto his lap. Locking his arms around my hips, he reclined against the headrest, his stare both serious and sincere.

“Tell me,” I murmured. “Why am I in danger.”

His eyes looked like they would crack.

“Because I fell for you.”

The intensity of his gaze took my breath away. His mouth stayed open, his eyes creasing slightly to control his wavering eyelids but never blinking.

I leaned my forehead against his, and he kissed me gently before I could speak. He stayed close, our noses touching, as he solaced himself in my eyes, his breath warming my chin. When he glanced down at my lips to kiss them a second time, I felt his long eyelashes before I was enveloped in blackness.

Everything was tranquil. Serene. Nothing seemed real, but when I put my hand to his chest I felt grounded by his heartbeat.

A long time passed until my eyes fluttered open, revealing a gleam in his. Enraptured by the moment, he exhaled, still holding me tightly, enchanted and unburdened.

I parted my lips, and he placed his index finger over them.

“Ssh,” he barely mumbled. “I want to remember you like this.” I blinked slowly as he stroked my cheek with his thumb, his eyes everywhere, taking me all in.

I felt his bulge under my seat and shifted to straddle him, which made him swallow. His hands arranged the skirt of my summer dress over his lap so Max couldn’t see.

“All I wanted was for you to have the future you deserve,” he whispered.

“As long as you’re in it,” I breathed, as I clasped my hands behind his neck.

He leaned in as we kissed again, his arms holding me tightly. I was aware of each place our bodies pressed together, and how he shivered when I canted forward, sliding my knees further apart on the slippery leather.

His hands covered my ears to hold me still, his tongue sinking deeper with swiftness, calming when it intertwined with mine. Everything was black again. Warm. My heart exploded as I filled with butterflies, leaving me exposed and vulnerable as each one carried a piece of me away.

His fingers slipped to my jawline as he consumed me, then down the side of my neck until his palm rested on my clavicle. When his lips were at my jugular, I gasped for my breath in his ear, and then I saw them over his shoulder.

“Those men are following us.” I was no longer whispering, and Copia’s hands dropped to my waist.

“They’ve been tailing us the whole time, sir,” Max announced. I slid off Copia’s lap so he could look out the back window, but he didn’t move and kept a hand on my thigh.

“The marsh,” Copia replied, meeting Max’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Yes, sir,” Max nodded, focusing on the road again.

“The marsh?” I asked.

“We’re having a picnic,” Copia muttered as he curled his arm around my shoulders.

I felt apprehensive when we turned off the highway before Niort, and I saw the sign for _le Marais Poitevin,_ known as the Green Venice. Copia distracted me with small attentive kisses as we entered the park, winding along narrower roads and waterways through an endless tree canopy. When I turned my head to see if the men followed us, Copia squeezed my shoulders and firmly gripped my thigh. I was not to look at them.

Several kilometers into the park, Max stopped near a shuttered boathouse. Empty rowboats lined the canal’s bank, and where the sun broke through the giant trees behind it, the stilled water shone a murky green.

We stayed in the car as Max exited, surveying the area, but I wasn’t sure for what. He finally opened the trunk, removing a picnic basket.

“From the hotel,” Copia explained, as he opened his door and helped me out of the car.

Max spread out a cloth at a waterside picnic table before returning to stand by the Phantom. I could see the other car parked on the far side of the boathouse, its occupants staying inside.

“Wine?” Copia acted as if nothing unusual was happening and set about uncorking a bottle and serving me a simple meal. Its chill was wearing off, but the wine was still pleasant to drink. Copia removed small plates, utensils, and napkins from the basket before slicing a baguette and taking out _la charcuterie._

“It’s like an impressionist painting,” I remarked as I sat down, trying to enjoy the beautiful scenery.

“You’re the painting.” He caught my eyes, handing me buttered slices of bread before removing the skin of _le saucisson sec,_ wielding his knife skillfully. The folding _laguiole_ blade had the signature _la mouche_ over its spring with an intricate shepherd’s cross embedded in the walnut handle.

He sliced _le pâté en croûte_ and served it before opening _petits pots de terrines, asperges blanches à la vinaigrette, et cornichons._ With flair, he sprinkled salt on my plate and placed two large radishes on top before sitting across from me.

“Who are those men?” I watched him take a large bite of sausage as he scooped out _terrine_ and spread it on a slice of bread, pushing the entire round between his teeth.

When he glanced up at me, he realized he missed something.

“I asked about the men.”

He finished chewing but said nothing, cocking his head slightly before he filled his mouth with _pâté._ We ate in silence for a while before I tried conversing again.

“I miss your horses. This is the longest I’ve been away from them.” I remembered how he looked saying goodbye to his stallion that morning. “The separation must make your business trips exceptionally difficult.”

Copia drank his entire glass of wine and poured another.

“Will you ride tonight?”

He met my gaze thoughtfully before answering.

“We’re riding together from now on.” Everything stopped and seemed surreal again as the breeze picked up and rustled the poplars overhead. I temporarily forgot we weren’t alone when his green eye glistened, matching the wetlands behind him. “It’s time,” he explained.

Stunned, I stayed quiet and watched as he stuffed two _cornichons_ in his mouth. I didn’t understand the change to his routine—our routine, and I wondered what would happen tonight.

When I looked towards the boathouse, Copia cleared his throat.

“I saw them in the cave you know,” I admitted as he frowned. “Who are they?” I kept my voice low.

“You’ll forget about them after today.” He reached into the basket for a wedge of _Tomme de Savoie_ and peeled back the paper. Standing up, he circled the table to stand next to me, cutting into the hard rind with his sharp blade. Pressing the petite slice between his thumb and the tip of the knife, he held it up to my mouth. “Taste.”

He slid the cheese onto my tongue with his thumb before slicing one for himself.

I opened my mouth for another bite, and he cut it smaller, pushing his thumb between my lips as he withdrew the blade and licked his own.

“Mhm.”

We turned upon hearing a thump in the distance—a car door. The driver now leaned against his hood waiting, arms folded.

“We should go,” Copia advised. He set the cheese in the basket and lifted the corner of the tablecloth. Opening my palm, he placed the knife in my hand, wrapping his fingers tightly over mine, holding it firmly as he carved our initials into the table. We finished with a soft kiss, his thumb grazing my pendant, until we heard a second car door. Both men now stood waiting by the boathouse.

He put lids on the open jars as I gathered and returned everything to the basket, running my index finger over our initials one last time.

At the car, he handed the leftovers to Max and opened the backseat door for me. He hesitated instead of following me, leaning in with one hand still on the roof.

“Stay in the car with Max,” he ordered before closing the door.

“Master Copia,” Max called out as he closed the trunk.

“Don’t let her out of your sight,” I heard him tell Max, raising his arm as he glided down the road towards the boathouse. I watched Copia speak to the men briefly before they all disappeared behind the building.

“Max,” I breathed. “What’s happening?” Several minutes passed without Copia in sight. “Maybe we should check on him. Max!” I pressed my face to the window, looking for any trace of him.

When Max started the engine, I lost my wits. He turned the car away from the boathouse and waited, engine running, as I kneeled on the seat staring out the rear window. I could no longer see the other car.

Copia emerged and strode to the Phantom alone, his hair and shirt disheveled.

He was breathless when the door closed, and Max immediately accelerated up the road. Copia glanced at me with his mouth open, his eyes large and wild.

“What happened back there?” I asked as he turned to his window. I reached for his shoulder, and he wrestled me into his arms, his reflexes taking over in his adrenaline rush. I felt his heart racing as he held me tight, realizing he wore gloves when I felt them rub my skin.

His eyes scanned my face with a fierceness I hadn’t seen before, and as he panted through his teeth, his brow touched mine.

“They won’t bother us anymore,” he growled softly against my cheek, guiding me back against my headrest.

His body heaved against mine while he caught his breath, crushing me against the seat. Every muscle was engaged, his body invigorated. Hard.

The blackness arrived when his mouth sought mine. I felt his mustache and breath across my chin before his soft lips, and in the dark depths of his kiss, I saw crimson when his fervor turned everything hot.

His kiss throbbed in a rhythm that left me needy: a set of firm, fiery pulses inciting whimpers followed by a deep plunge broad and wide, inducing an appeasing moan when his tongue circled mine.

His hips turned sideways, and I felt his cock against my leg and something even harder in his pocket. I fell deeper into the blackness when he groaned, a deep rumble within him threatening to surface.

One hand clutched my breast while the other gripped the nape of my neck, holding me against his jaw as it clamped over mine, his tongue still flicking, beating, and vibrating over muffled breaths.

He grunted and pulled my leg over his, moaning when we turned and I slid over his lap. He unzipped and discarded his gloves swiftly, grasping my legs, his hands sliding up to my hips and back down, gripping so tightly it felt I could bruise.

When he unzipped his pants, something fell from his pocket. I reached into the crack of the seat and held up his knife.

His eyes darkened as he took it from me and opened the blade—it was meticulously clean. He raised his chin, staring at me as his hand carefully disappeared beneath my dress, and I froze as our eyes locked, gasping when the metal was against my skin. Licking his lips, he slashed my panties at the crotch, sliding the back of the blade to my hip and slashing again, ripping them off.

He dropped the knife, both hands now on my ass, moaning as he pushed me down over his exposed cock. His eyes narrowly opened as he hesitated, lips apart, a look of pure enjoyment on his face as he sank his cock as deep as he could.

“I’d do anything for you,” he hissed under his breath in his lowest voice, and the blackness swallowed me.

His hot lips ignited mine, but I could not keep his pace. Impatient, his hands snapped to each side of my neck, his thumbs pulling my jawbone down to make more room for him, burying his tongue. I moaned against it as his cock set me ablaze, everything turning crimson again.

His body burned like a demon’s, and when I tried to pull back I couldn’t, his arms clamped tightly around me as I started shaking, his cock relentless.

His cum scorched my insides like oil on a fire, and embers filled the blackness before I collapsed in his arms, both our hearts pounding.

When I could hear again, the music was on. Copia hummed along out of breath, unintelligibly.

> _D'une rencontre au bord de l'eau, ne restent que quatre initiales_  
>  _Et deux cœurs taillés au couteau dans le bois des tables bancales_
> 
> _Si tu reviens jamais danser chez Temporel, un jour ou l'autre_  
>  _Pense à ceux qui tous ont laissé leurs noms gravés auprès du nôtre_

As I listened, the song sounded like an eerie coincidence, sweet at first, until I considered the knife on the floor at his feet. He cut our hearts into the table, but there was something else.

I thought about what he said the last time we were in the car on the way to Toulouse. Maybe I did know what he was capable of. Maybe he had shown me.

He was gentle now, his hands to my back, whispering the final refrain as Max sped down the highway.

> _Si tu reviens jamais danser chez Temporel_  
>  _Un jour ou l'autre_  
>  _Pense aux bonheurs qui sont passés là simplement_  
>  _Comme le nôtre_  
> 


	19. The Foal

  
_Like your father in hell_  


Jean-Luc and Béatrice came outside when the Phantom rolled into the driveway.

“What’s going on?” I asked Copia, and he shrugged before Max opened our door.

Béatrice acknowledged me as I took my place standing next to Copia, but her face appeared anxious. There were no greetings as Jean-Luc got straight to business.

“There’s been another death.”

Copia raised his nose, bristling at the news as I clutched his upper arm. When I glanced up at the château windows, I saw Cat and Alexandre together, peering down at us.

“Inès died. It happened the day after you left, sir.”

“Inès?” It embarrassed me I didn’t know her.

“She was one of the summer hires,” Béatrice informed me.

Copia looked down at the driveway cobblestones, lost in thought.

“You need to say something,” Jean-Luc insisted.

“It’s a tragedy,” Copia finally stated, raising his head.

“I meant say something to the staff. There’s growing concern.”

Copia stared off into the distance.

“What happened.”

“Alexandre found her in the stable. She was already dead. The coroner said she had been there for hours.”

Copia raised his brows without looking at anyone.

“I wanted to call you,” Béatrice added apologetically.

“There was nothing you could have done, Master Copia,” Jean-Luc interrupted. “Your interests were best served at Saumur.”

“How did it happen?” I wanted the details.

“Natural causes,” Jean-Luc answered. “I notified her family.”

Copia squinted as he turned his head towards the late sun.

“The horses.”

“They’re fine, sir,” Jean-Luc replied.

“Assemble the staff tomorrow,” Copia instructed Béatrice.

“We planned _une fête_ for you tomorrow night, Master Copia,” Béatrice’s eyes shifted to Jean-Luc and back nervously, “to celebrate your performance.”

Copia appeared conflicted about the party.

“That wasn’t necessary, but I will address the staff then. Thank you and good evening.”

“Good evening, sir.” Béatrice and Jean-Luc turned to go inside as Max unloaded our bags.

When I let go of Copia’s arm, he gripped mine, and I knew what he needed.

“Max, would you please take our bags inside? We will check on the horses.”

Max nodded as he closed the trunk, and when I turned, Cat and Alexandre were still staring at us from the window. Alexandre pointed at himself, inquiring if he should come outside, and I waved him off.

Copia stayed quiet as we walked the path to the stable, and when we arrived, he immediately sought his horse. Alexandre had them all inside for the night.

I let Copia be as I checked on the others. Something agitated Bascule, but Laguerre and Ankou were calm when I greeted them. I gave Bascule extra attention and checked that she still had fresh water, trying not to envision Inès on the floor.

“Shall I tack up your horse?” I asked Copia quietly when I closed Bascule’s gate.

“Please.” He turned his head. “Ride with me to the beach.”

“I’ll get Laguerre’s tack.”

“No, Bascule needs to run. And so do you,” he added when I hesitated, his gaze insistent.

In the paddock, Copia motioned for me to mount Bascule first. Once in the saddle, his gloved hands adjusted my stirrups, and then he repositioned my legs, pushing my rear to adjust my posture. Satisfied, he grunted and mounted his own horse.

“Your second race,” he rasped, the devil in his eye as he took off for the beach trail.

He rode hard and long the entire distance to the cove, and I fell behind weaving through the underbrush, where he took a significant lead. But Bascule rode like an impetuous wind, never yielding, and as we passed Copia in the final clearing, I realized I was on a runaway horse and the cliff was approaching too fast.

Bascule ignored my seat cues, dashing wildly towards the ledge in the distance. She refused to slow down or circle when I used the reins.

Copia’s horse pulled alongside, cantering at the same speed. Copia swung his leg over sidesaddle, and after waiting a beat to ensure the timing, he leaped onto Bascule’s back, reaching around my waist with both hands to grab the reins.

Quickly, he lifted the left rein up and diagonally as he shifted our weight back, causing Bascule to cross her back legs and lose her forward momentum. As she slowed, he released his hand, and she came to a stop before we were in peril.

Copia’s arm held me firmly, and we both felt my heartbeat pounding.

“We won’t go any further,” he reassured me, directing Bascule to the trees where his horse stood waiting.

Copia tied up the horses after we dismounted, and we sat together in the grass to rest as the sun began to set. I felt the rise and fall of his chest behind me. He seemed relieved to be at the ocean, yet something still troubled him as he stared out over the coastline.

“I’m not ready for a horse like that,” I muttered. “She always gives me trouble.”

“You are ready.” He rubbed my arms reassuringly. “You just don’t know it.” He kissed my cheek, and we fell into silence again, the waves making the only sounds.

“What happened to Inès,” I began cautiously. “Was it the men from the marsh?”

“No,” he quickly dismissed the idea. “They’ve never set foot on the estate.”

“Will there be others coming?” I turned to see his eyes.

“Do not be afraid. My business associates want to intimidate me. It won’t work.” His voice sounded rough like it had in the car, and when he shifted closer, I felt the folded knife still in his pocket.

His face grew somber.

“I’m troubled by the deaths of Inès and Gabrielle. By any death.” His crow’s feet deepened.

“I’m sorry it happened.”

The sun sank lower in the sky, and I shivered as I noticed how cool the air had become. Copia’s arms tightened around me, shielding me from the wind, and he didn’t speak again until we had groomed the horses and entered the library at dusk.

Silently, he turned on his desk lamp and opened a drawer to return his knife to its place. I glimpsed two other knives and a shiny dagger, arranged neatly next to a tray of stamps. When I approached and put my hands to his chest, I didn’t comment on what I saw.

“I need to be alone tonight,” he said as he closed the drawer. He gently clasped my wrists and lowered them.

“Are you sure.” I eyed the bulge from our ride as he walked me to the library door, and he stopped in the doorway and pressed his lips to the back of my hand before he let go. In the hallway, when I turned to look back at him, he blew a wistful kiss.

  


* * *

  


“May I join you?”

I encountered Alexandre’s serious brown eyes when I looked up. I nodded for him to set his breakfast down. It had been days since we spoke.

“You found Inès?” I spoke quietly so others in the dining room couldn’t hear.

“I did.” He leaned forward. “In the stable near the tack room. There were no signs of any trauma. I thought perhaps she fainted.”

“I don’t even know who she was.”

“She was working the night Colette stayed here. You spoke to her in the hallway.”

Unable to place her, I shook my head.

“Are you all right?” Alexandre scrutinized my face. “Copia didn’t—”

“I’m fine.”

Alexandre shrugged and bit into his _tartine._

“Thank you for caring for the horses while I was away.”

He nodded as Franchot came over to join us.

“Welcome back,” Franchot smiled at me as he sat down.

“Cat doesn’t get a break?” I asked.

“Only one of us at a time,” he laughed. “We’re preparing a summer dinner _à la basquaise pour la fête ce soir.”_

“So that’s why Béatrice asked me to get firewood,” Alexandre chimed in.

“We’re starting the pit early,” Franchot continued. “We need hot coals.”

Alexandre kept eating as Franchot peeked out the window.

“Have you been outside?”

“Only to the stable,” I answered.

“The _argizaiolas_ are lit,” Franchot said solemnly. “In the chapel off the courtyard.”

“Did you know Inès? What was she like?”

“Soft-spoken. And a hard worker.” Franchot smiled. “The nights she was here were always late. She never played _Belote,_ but she would come into the kitchen and empty my bottle of _pastis_ when I wasn’t looking. She was my friend.”

“I’m sorry, Franchot.” He nodded, and I changed the subject. “Has either of you seen Copia this morning?”

“He’s been in his library,” Alexandre replied. “I saw him while you were doing your morning jobs, and he seemed out of sorts.”

I worried about what was happening to Copia. He had been more erratic. Volatile. Perhaps the academy visit affected him more strongly than I was aware, and the recent deaths certainly upset him. I wondered where he spent the night.

“Please excuse me. I’d like to pay my respects.”

As I headed outside, I passed Copia’s library and tried the door handle. It surprised me to find it locked.

“Master Copia.” I knocked quietly. “Master Copia.”

There was no answer.

The chapel was a single, small stone room off the château’s north side near the meadows. When I passed through its small arch, the smell of Cognac overwhelmed me. I waved my hand to dissipate the scent and sat down on the single short pew beneath the tiny domed roof.

Two old, wooden funerary boards were set on the large stones, long wicks of wax rolled around the anthropomorphic figures. They would be turned throughout the day as the wicks burned—one for Inès and one for Gabrielle.

I kneeled on the cold stones, watching the light being offered to the dead. Someone laid wildflowers in front of the boards.

It felt like I was being watched when the flames flickered, but no one was in the archway when I looked. I left quickly after that to return to my chores.

Copia didn’t appear all day. I grew increasingly concerned as the hours passed and his library door remained shut. As evening approached, the smoke from the fire pit cast a gloom in the summer air, and the staff seemed unsure whether they should be mourning or celebrating.

I was catching up with Béatrice outside when Copia arrived.

“I need my ride,” he rasped, seizing my arm.

“Excuse us,” I said to Béatrice as he led me away down the path. I could smell the alcohol on his breath.

I shook my arm free of his grip when we entered the stable. “You’re in no condition to ride.”

The horses startled as he passed their stalls. They could sense it too.

Copia glared at me defiantly as he opened the gate for his horse, and she pinned her ears back tightly.

“The tack,” he ordered, his voice raised.

I refused. His horse snorted and took a step back.

“I’ll get her bridle myself,” he grumbled as he pushed past me to the tack room, snatching it from the wall.

“Master Copia!” I followed him back to the stall. “Stop and look at your horse!”

Her upper lip curled as she breathed in and out, her tail clamped down against her body. When Copia approached, she squealed, and he dropped the bridle to the floor.

“You’re scaring her!”

Bewildered at the noise, a look of horror flashed in his eyes and then sadness as he became cognizant of the distress he caused. I watched the affliction deep inside him over the deaths well up to the surface. He staggered when he stepped back from the stall before abruptly leaving.

“Master Copia,” I called after him, but he didn’t look back. I bent down to pick up the bridle and calmed each horse before closing the stable again for the night.

When I returned to the château, the _fête_ had quietly started on the patio outside the dining room. Staff mingled as music played, sipping cocktails as Cat offered them _les pintxos de style basque_ and _melon au Jambon de Bayonne._

I wasn’t planning to drink after Copia’s outburst, but I acquiesced to Alexandre when he handed me a St-Germain spritz. Together, we watched Franchot cooking on grill grates over the hot embers.

Copia emerged from indoors ten minutes later, stepping into the middle of the patio to speak. His eyes sought mine before he began, but I couldn’t read the emptiness in them. Franchot seemed upset by his timing—dinner was nearly ready.

“We’ve lost two of our own in recent weeks.” The staff quieted down to listen, the hissing fire and clank of Franchot’s pans the only sounds in the background. Copia seemed lucid—he pulled himself together somehow.

“I’m saddened by this news, but it’s a tragedy we will overcome.” He scanned everyone’s faces. “There is no good life without a good death. And a beautiful death confirms life.” He paused when our eyes locked before looking on again. “Our dear Inès and Gabrielle lived and died beautifully. We will never forget them.”

Jean-Luc clapped, signaling the staff to applaud, and Copia bowed his head and thanked stewards and staff for planning and attending the gathering. His spirits lifted when asked about the gala in Saumur, and as he recounted the story, the staff quieted down again. When he finished, everyone was in a more festive mood, and there was another round of applause.

Cat assembled the seafood buffet: basque-style _thon rouge_ served as a casserole, _chipirons_ and _cabillaud basquais_ cooked with tomatoes and spicy dried _piment à Esplette,_ and the signature _ttoro maison crouton à l’ail,_ a seafood stew with several varieties of fish and shellfish. Franchot grilled whiting with chorizo sausage and the Basque _piperade_ made of the same spicy peppers, serving it directly onto diners’ plates.

Copia avoided me most of the evening, enjoying his meal and socializing with the stewards. Cat lit candles on all the tables as it became darker while Franchot served Ossau-Iraty sheep's milk cheese and _le gâteau Basque_ for dessert, both with black cherry jam. _Digestifs_ came afterwards, and I spotted Copia and Cat chatting while he lit a cigar. I watched them until she excused herself to return to work, and that’s when Copia spotted me sitting on the patio wall. He extinguished his cigar and turned towards the lawn, passing through an opening in the hedge that led to _chaise longues_ and disappearing out of my sight line.

I poured two Cognacs.

“Good evening.” I walked across the grass to the lounge chair where he was reclining, his head back. “Would you prefer to be alone?” I asked when he didn’t acknowledge me.

“No, no.” He motioned for me to join him, and I held out a snifter as I sat at his hip. He guided me back so I reclined with him, keeping his arm around me as I stretched out my legs.

“I hope your _fête_ wasn’t entirely bittersweet.” He squeezed my arm as I tilted my head against his shoulder, enjoying the lingering scent of his cigar. “Are you looking at the stars?”

He took a large sip of his drink, and I felt his gulp when he swallowed.

“They give me hope.”

“What do you hope for?”

“A greater purpose than I’ve espoused.”

I traced my finger around the rim of my glass.

“Maybe you could have that at the academy.”

“That’s not my life anymore. It never truly was.”

“Do you regret those years?”

He turned his nose just enough to see me from the corners of his eyes.

“No, never. But there are consequences... retribution.”

I wasn’t sure what he implied, but the words flowed freely in his oiled condition.

“He’s disappearing soon,” Copia continued, taking another large sip. “But even when we can’t see him, he’s always there watching over us.” Copia lifted my hand and aimed my index finger to the horizon. “There.”

“Who is watching?”

He paused.

“Pegasus,” he rasped, referring to the winged-horse constellation. “And his foal.” He lowered our arms and took another drink, emptying his glass. “Do you know about the little horse?”

“I don’t.” It intrigued me to hear him talk like this.

“She is Equuleus. She hides behind Pegasus, showing only her head.”

“Why is that?”

“Seduced by a man, she was ashamed when she became pregnant,” he began, “hiding in the mountains until she gave birth. When her father came looking for her, she prayed to escape, and the gods turned her into a mare.”

“So now she hides in the sky.”

“Precisely,” Copia concluded, lowering his snifter down to the grass. He turned his head farther this time so his nose was at my ear.

“And why does Pegasus disappear?” I resisted the urge to kiss him.

“He flies to the southern hemisphere.” He lifted the hair from my neck. “To protect the foal.” I didn’t hear his words as much as I felt them on my skin, his warm breath giving me chills.

“You smell nice,” he whispered as his finger skimmed my pendant before sliding into my cleavage.

“Someone might see us,” I whispered, but I did nothing else to stop him.

“I don’t care.”

I felt his tongue on my skin and weakened.

“You taste nice.” I still stared at the sky where he pointed, looking for the white-winged stallion, as he smoothly lowered his hand over my breasts to my lap. His lips at my neck, one index finger traced the outline of my pussy over the ornate pattern of my sundress.

“Master Copia.” My objection barely surfaced, and it turned into a soft moan as the stars disappeared. I set my glass down before I dropped it.

“You sound nice.” He slipped his hand to my leg, sliding it up to my underwear. His finger lightly skimmed my panties as I separated my legs for him. I held his sideburns as we kissed.

“Excuse me. Are you all right?” Alexandre’s voice interrupted us.

Copia didn’t look up, but I saw Alexandre standing near the hedge. His eyes darted back and forth, trying to see more than our shadows in the darkness.

“You should leave.” Copia’s cold voice made me hot, his finger sliding subtly but firmly over my underwear.

“I need to know she’s OK,” Alexandre insisted as Copia’s fingers slipped inside my panties. I felt his body tense when he realized how wet I already was.

“Tell him,” Copia rasped so only I could hear. “Tell him I need to be inside you right now.”

“Al-Alexandre, get out of here,” I stammered as Copia pulled the crotch of my underwear to the side. It was the last thing I said before Copia’s tongue filled my mouth.

When he shifted to unzip his pants and lifted my dress, he raised his head to watch as he fucked me slowly in the chair. The breeze had picked up, blowing his hair forward to frame his dark eyes.

“Always watching,” Copia whispered as he pushed my legs up just enough to press inside. I gripped the sides of the chair with both hands, trying not to make a sound and call attention to ourselves as I grimaced at his girth, still aware of the music and voices on the other side of the hedge.

Copia lowered a hand, rubbing his thumb slowly across my clit until my body relaxed against the chair cushion, gratified when he could enter me fully.

Each gentle thrust was agonizingly slow as he heedfully observed every response I made: my lips opening and closing, my uneven anticipatory breaths, my hips pressing forward, silently asking for more. When I looked up at him, he was staring down, the stars blurring into an aureole around his head against the night sky.

“Master Copia?” It was Cat calling for him this time, and I heard a rustle at the hedge. Copia didn’t stop, neither of us making a sound as Cat called his name again.

Copia opened his mouth as if he would finally groan, and I shoved three fingers over his tongue to quiet him before pulling my hips slightly back to receive his heat. I held his ass as he clamped down silently on my fingers, and then my head snapped forward into the loose skin of his neck when he slipped deeper.

“Master Copia?”

He was still inside me heaving as Cat took her leave.

  


* * *

  


The unpaved country road led across a short wooden bridge, and once I crossed it, I took the shortcut up the grassy hill. When I pushed the handle on the farmhouse’s front door, it surprised me to find it locked.

“Hello!” I pounded on the door with one fist, still squeezing the lever. It must open—it had to.

“Please, please,” I begged under my breath. “Please!” I squeezed the lever in vain; the door would not budge.

I let go when I heard footsteps inside, stepping back from the door when the deadbolt turned.

No one was there when the door opened—only the brightest white light. As it overtook me, I couldn’t move. I lost my vision and my voice.

I clutched the sheet when I awakened from my paralysis, turning on my bedside lamp. I was alone in my room, fuzzy and possibly still half dreaming. My window was open. 

I held my pendant as I lay in bed remembering what was real: I left the _fête_ alone when Jean-Luc asked for a late meeting with Copia.

Looking at my clock, I realized I needed to be up in two hours for my morning jobs. I took some deep breaths, trying to relax, but then a vision from Saumur made me get out of bed.

I opened my closet door wide so I could see the back of the top shelf. I took down my hat box, sitting on the bed again and lifting the lid.

I flipped through years of assorted mementos and treasured photographs until I found the small black photo album at the bottom of the box. I don’t know why I didn’t put it in storage—there were no pictures of us in it. I guessed because he left behind so few things, that it kept me closer to him somehow. I worried I would forget him.

I smiled when I turned to the first page, and I studied each photograph until I neared the end of the album, when I felt butterflies and my skin turned cold.

He was there, sitting in his white suit—a young man with no wrinkles and no circles of any kind around his eyes. He was smiling and laughing in the photograph—and sitting next to my father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearest readers: PLEASE GIVE HIM A CHANCE TO EXPLAIN!


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